


A Winter's Tale

by Virtuella



Series: Vetinari/Angelina Trilogy [1]
Category: Discworld, Jane Austen - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-19
Updated: 2010-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 41,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtuella/pseuds/Virtuella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pride & Petri dishes! It is a case of Pterry-meets-Jane-Austen when a genteel but naive alchemist comes to Ankh-Morpork and Vetinari discovers his Darcy side. Canon compatible up to Making Money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Discworld belongs to Terry Pratchett. Jane Austen, luckily, is out of copyright. Thanks to Andrew Salt and Finlay for beta reading and moral support.

Not all that is gold does glitter, whatever the Ankh-Morpork Guild of Alchemists may say. There are many treasures on the Disc waiting to be discovered, and not all of them are hidden. Like beauty, treasure might be in the eye of the beholder. A little boy might clutch in his hands all night the shell that smells and sounds of the ocean. A man might discover in some antique shop a little music box that chimes the tune he had been desperately trying to remember. A woman might find in a corner of the attic her parents’ wedding iconograph, years after they have died. These treasures are surrounded by a haze of gold, invisible to most, but giving delight to those who have eyes to see it. As for people...

 

\----

 

 

Drumknott glided into the Oblong Office, beaming efficiency.

“The mail, my lord.”

Lord Vetinari made a slight gesture with his hand towards a clear space on his desk. The clerk positioned a small pile of envelopes where the Patrician had indicated. These were letters addressed directly to His Lordship and he took the mail seriously enough to only ever open and read such items himself, though he sometimes wondered why he bothered. This was a major drawback of the resurrection of the post office. It encouraged people to write letters. There are only so many petty complaints a despotic ruler wants to read before breakfast, and on some days the perusal of the mail made him feel almost melancholy.

 

A rather larger wad of papers remained in Drumknott’s hands; these were letters that had been directed by more considerate citizens to the Patrician’s secretary. Drumknott flicked through them, quickly summarizing the main point of each document while Vetinari listened intently, staring ahead onto his desk while he commented and instructed, fingers steepled in his usual pose.

 

“…and finally, we have at last an application for position C23, which looks rather promising.”

Vetinari looked up.

“Which one would that … oh, yes, I remember. Drumknott, do you really have to assign codes to these job advertisements? “

“It makes the filing much easier, my lord.”

“Of course.”

“And in this case it also does save some time.”

“Hm, yes, I believe we should endeavour to find a more efficient title for this position. What did we eventually call it?”

Drumknott read from the paper: “A person to collect and evaluate information about the effects of industrial emissions on the health of the population.”

“Indeed. A rather longwinded, but as it seems necessary undertaking. I can no longer ignore these reports from the Slaughterhouse District. People have been writing letters to The Times, you know.”

“I read some of them, my lord. Not exactly alarming, but rather worrying.”

“A perfect assessment, Drumknott! And we certainly do not want them to become alarming. Let me see the application then.”

 

Vetinari extended his arm and took the letter out of Drumknott’s hands. He perused it thoroughly and then dropped it on the desk.

 

“A degree in alchemy and botany from Pseudopolis Academy? Well, beggars can’t be choosers, Drumknott, and the position has been advertised for three months now. Send a clacks to Mr…” He glanced down. “…Mr A.B.Winter and advise him that the position is his, starting at the earliest date he can manage. The mail coach arrives daily now, so I expect him to report to me no later than the 14th. Meanwhile, get the usual checks on him under way.”

“Yes, my lord. I have already made arrangements for a suitable office to be prepared for Mr Winter.”

“Well done, Drumknott.”

Vetinari turned to his own pile of letters and Drumknott silently left the room.

 

\----

 

 

Autumn storms had brought some fresher air into Ankh-Morpork, and as the temperature was sinking, the stench from the river subsided to a mellow background odour. The city was giving a sigh of relief. But in the Slaughterhouse District people continued to sniffle, cough and wheeze. Worried looking women with sickly children queued up at the entrance of the Lady Sybil Free Hospital and the letters section of The Times was full of the stout views of concerned citizens demanding that something ought to be done. And all the while, the chimneys of the rubber factories billowed long, black columns of smoke over the rimward part of the City.

 

 

Outside the Post Office building, eight passengers had just alighted from a mail coach. Some were met by kindly relatives or led away by efficient looking business connections. The others looked around with the slightly awkward air of people not quite knowing what to do next. One of them was a woman standing beside a large trunk with a slim envelope in her hand. The bystanders, trying to assess the newcomers, were puzzled by her appearance. She seemed fairly young, with a fresh face and youthful expression, but her dark hair, swept up into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, showed touches of grey. Her clothes were of good quality, but cut to be practical rather than elegant. Her figure was small and comfortable, yet she stood very upright as if to defy her natural allocation of stature. She drew breath, then frowned. After a while she beckoned to one of the hire coach drivers, who approached her with the gentle swagger he deemed suitable for his trade. Two minutes later she and her trunk had left and the bystanders thought of her no more.

 

 

\----

 

 

Late in the afternoon of the 14th of Sektober, Drumknott came into the Oblong Office looking marginally embarrassed. Lord Vetinari noted his expression, but refrained from commenting.

“Ah, Drumknott. Has Mr Winter arrived at last?”

“Not quite, my lord.”

“Not quite?”

Drumknott coughed.

“There is, in fact, not a Mr Winter, my lord. It is, ahem, a Miss Winter.”

Vetinari’s face showed no sign of surprise.

“Well, Drumknott, give her fifteen minutes and then show her in.”

 

The clerk left the room. After the agreed interval he returned, ushering in a small and very erect dark-haired woman.

“Ah, Miss Winter. Do sit down. I hope you have not been waiting too long?”

As befitted a new employee, he treated her to his customary stare to see how she would take it - smirk, squirm or play poker face were the usual reactions. The woman however gave him a pleasant but businesslike smile and placed a folder on the desk in front of him. Then she spoke, with a deep and mellow voice that seemed surprising in such a small person.

“Good afternoon, my lord. I wouldn’t have minded waiting longer. I have been amusing myself with the clock in the waiting room.”

“Have you?”

“Yes, it has a very creative approach to timekeeping. Is it supposed to be some kind of game? What a novel idea!”

“Indeed,” replied Vetinari flatly. He scrutinized her face, which still wore the calm and open smile, then he shrugged and picked up the folder.

“I see you have brought me paperwork.”

“Yes, my credentials. You were generous enough to employ me without seeing them, but I thought you might like to see them now.”

“Hmm.”

 

The Patrician leafed through the pages.

“It would appear, Miss Winter, that you were rather well established in Pseudopolis. May I ask why you left?”

“People in Pseudopolis have fairly conservative views when it comes to women in academic professions. I heard that this is different in Ankh-Morpork.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, and therefore I considered myself very lucky when I found out that you were looking for an environmental health officer.”

Vetinari’s eyes met Drumknott’s. The clerk picked up the hint and scribbled down something on his notepad.

“Aha. We, on the other hand, think ourselves lucky to have found an … environmental health officer, who is willing to tackle the tasks presenting themselves in this our esteemed city. Male or female seems to be of little consequence. Your job, Miss Winter, will be to find out why people in the rimwards areas of the city have recently suffered a significant increase in ill health.”

 

Now Miss Winter’s expression of quiet confidence was disturbed. She frowned, displaying an exquisite array of little wrinkles on the bridge of her nose.

“Is that all? I did not expect to be on a short-term contract. You should have mentioned that in your advertisement.”

“We will find other uses for you once this assignment is completed,” said Vetinari coldly. “You may find, though, that it is not a straightforward problem to solve. While there are rumours that it is the fault of the rubber industry, they have the merit and credibility only of rumours, and the rubber factories have been with us for many years without any such problems. The rubber industry is a lucrative business and its contributions to the city’s affluence are substantial. On the other hand, I have a duty of care for my citizens. There might well be a conflict of interest. There is also a notion among certain people that trolls, who form a major part of the population in that area, are to blame. The troll community can be rather...touchy about such allegations. I am sure I do not have to draw you a picture.”

“No my lord. I assume the head of the department will give me all the necessary details.”

 

There was a pause, indicating that here was an assumption that would need to be modified. Vetinari rearranged the papers in the credentials folder and closed it gingerly.

“I’m afraid this will not be the case, Miss Winter. You are, in fact, your very own department all by yourself. Congratulations on becoming Ankh-Morpork’s first … environmental health officer.”

Miss Winter wrinkled her nose again.

“In that case, my lord, it would be good if you could give me more details.”

Vetinari pushed the folder back towards his new employee.

“You will have to fill in the blanks yourself, Miss Winter. Mr Drumknott will show you your office and go through the contract with you. I believe he has already arranged your membership with the Guild of Alchemists. Do not let me detain you.”

She gave him a puzzled look, then picked up her paperwork and rose from her seat.

“Well, you must be a busy man. I am sorry if I took up too much of your time. Good bye, my lord.”

She opened the door before Drumknott could do it for her and marched out, head held high. The clerk followed her noiselessly.

Vetinari sighed and began to read a report from the Campaign for Equal Heights regarding the question whether dwarf bread was to be included in the new Offensive Weapons Act. There really was no end to the complaints he had to deal with.

 

\----

 

 

 **My dear Cassandra,**

 **it is time for first impressions! I arrived here yesterday, went straight to my lodgings, and from there to the palace where I spoke to my employer Lord Vetinari. It turned out that the work situation is somewhat different from what I had envisaged, in that I am going to be entirely on my own in this post and that no environmental monitoring has ever taken place in the city before. So I will have to start from scratch. It makes me rather nervous to be solely responsible for this task, but I’ll just have to do the best I can.  His Lordship’s secretary, Mr Drumknott, has been very helpful to me in getting my bearings.**

 **I didn’t see Henry until this evening, because he was away on business. The landlady was very suspicious, she obviously thought Henry was my “young man”, which was rather funny. Fortunately I had brought a whole album of family iconographs, which eventually convinced her that all was above board. She is a most droll woman and clearly enjoys expanding her horizon, albeit by the method of extracting personal information from her boarders.**

 **There are two other women staying here, one is a dressmaker from Istanzia, her name is Tvoolia Hingh, she seems very friendly. The second, Beraguld Parslower, is leaving next week, because she is getting married.**

 **Henry has promised to give me a tour of all the major attractions of Ankh-Morpork soon, though at present I find it hard to imagine that there is much here that I would call attractive. The city stinks! Henry says you stop noticing it after a while; I am not sure if that is a good thing.**

 **There’s not much else to tell, but I thought I would just scribble a quick note to let you know that I am well. Henry sends his regards and says he will write to you eventually, but cannot yet tell when. So typical of him, but don’t we love him anyway...**

 **Lots of hugs**

 **Yours**

 **Lina**


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later Miss Winter was coming back from her first excursion to the Slaughterhouse District. She was walking up Quirm Street, when a black carriage stopped beside her and she was addressed by the occupant.

“Can I give you a lift, Miss Winter?”

“Oh, it is you, my lord. Thank you, it would be quite convenient.”

The door was opened and a hand helped her inside.

“I must admit I am fairly tired. The city is bigger than I expected.”

“Ah. I assume you have been doing the usual sight-seeing tour?”

She gave him a surprised look.

“Oh, did you think I was truanting? Certainly not, my lord. I have been down to the Slaughterhouse District to get an impression of the situation there.”

“That is very commendable of you, Miss Winter, but you shouldn’t venture into these parts of the city on your own. You are, after all, not familiar with the ... idiosyncrasies of Ankh-Morpork. In the future, a palace guard will accompany you. I shall give directions for that.”

 

Since she had entered the carriage Miss Winter had been busy trying to smooth her hair and dress, which had indeed been in a rather ruffled state. Now she sat still and looked at him with a cheerful smile.

“Thank you, my Lord, but that is quite unnecessary. My brother says he has seen to it that nobody would dare touch me. My brother has some special connections.”

The Patrician raised an eyebrow, expecting further explanations, but she had averted her eyes and was now eagerly looking out of the window.

 

“So many interesting looking buildings! I read you have some fine examples of the works of B.S.Johnson in this city? I am asking because my brother – that is another brother – studied Bizarre and Dysfunctional Architecture and wrote his dissertation on Johnson. He used to tell me a lot about his peculiar projects. I intend to see them at first hand and compare them to Robert’s accounts.”

 

He considered her face while she was speaking. Her features, though not pretty in the classic sense, were pleasant and possessed an expressive agility that suggested a corresponding suppleness of mind. He noticed a group of three tiny circular scars on her chin, and wondered if it was the reminder of an alchemical experiment gone wrong, when he realized that it was more likely the result of a childhood bout of chickenpox. The contrast between her otherwise smooth face and the touches of grey in her hair did not puzzle him: The Patrician knew that Miss Winter was thirty-four.

 

“Indeed, we have no shortage of Mr Johnson’s inventions. The University prides itself of a very fine Johnson organ, though I don’t think they let visitors see The Bathroom. And you may have heard that the Palace has a magnificent landscaped garden designed by that genial man. You are welcome to explore it. I believe the University publishes a leaflet listing all the Johnson sites in the city. Mr Drumknott will be able to provide you with one.”

“Oh, yes, that would be very interesting. Ah, this looks like Short Street, is that right? If you don’t mind, I’ll get off here, it must be almost five o’clock and I may as well go straight home.”

Vetinari signalled to the driver to stop and Miss Winter, after thanking him briefly, stepped out and strode away. A thoughtful look followed her.

 

 

 **\----**

 

 

Angelina Beatrice Winter was not aware that she was subject to the special scrutiny of Lord Vetinari’s special clerks, but if she had been, she probably wouldn’t have minded. Her vita may have been be slightly odd, but contained nothing she wished to hide.

 

She came from a moderately genteel, moderately wealthy and very, very scholarly family. They had a little old money and a great deal of old knowledge. Steventon, their estate near Pseudopolis, was of modest proportions, but the library comprised five rooms. While she was neither particularly handsome nor rich, she was decidedly clever. Her mother had taught her literacy and numeracy, her father had introduced her to history, the arts and her most cherished subject, science. She had shared the home tutor’s classes with four brothers and a sister, but the library was the cardinal source of Angelina’s education. She had spent seemingly endless hours in the dim candle light lingering between the ancient shelves, while rain poured down the windows and the shadows flickered on the floor. Volume after volume opened in her hand and found its way into her mind, forming a landscape of its very own inside the head of an impressionable young girl.

 

On her lone ramblings she came across books that seemed strange and exiting. With the innocence of a ten-year-old she never wondered why she sometimes found further rooms beyond that dark corner by the grandfather clock. Some of these rooms were gloomy and scared her, others were filled with an unfamiliar light. There she explored titles like “Urban Biodiversity and Community Planning” and noted with interest not only their content, but their publishing dates and places. It was as if these books came from a different world. The latter idea gave her a slightly shivery feeling, but did not deter her from further studies. On the contrary, she made her excerpts all the more systematically, since she was rarely able to find the same interesting volume again on the next day. Some days there was nothing but a wall next to the grandfather clock, covered in faded yellow wallpaper. Once when she gingerly touched it, her hand went straight through the wall, and she pulled it back in dismay. Another day when she had ventured further into the peculiar rooms than ever before and was beginning to be anxious about finding her way back, she encountered a large, curious looking creature covered in saggy orange fur. The animal gave her a friendly pat on the shoulders and ushered her around a few corners until she found herself among familiar shelves again. When Angelina related this episode to her parents, they smiled indulgently and nodded their heads. The imagination the child had!

 

After some ten years of such academic pursuits, Angelina approached her parents with a wish to study at the Pseudopolis Academy for Applied Natural Lore. Mr and Mrs Winter, who had allowed their sons to make highly individual career choices and were currently supporting their other daughter’s ambition to establish herself as a silversmith, saw no reason why she shouldn’t. The College, however, saw a reason immediately in the form of Angelina’s first name and protested vigorously against the impudence. A legal tug-of-war followed, lasting two and a half years, and eventually Angelina took up her studies as the first female student in Pseudopolis. At the age of twenty-four, she became engaged to a young man of the local gentry, who subsequently left for the Grand Sneer and never returned. Her parents could not find out how much Angelina minded, but it was generally noted that she bore it very well. However, she never showed any inclination to attach herself to a potential admirer again, but instead pursued her studies with diligence and enthusiasm.

 

As soon as she graduated, Angelina found out that while the college had grudgingly allowed her to study, they had in spite of her excellent attainment no intention to offer her a job. The local alchemist’s guild proved to be more liberal, whether from a genuine belief in equality or from complete disinterest in gender was unclear, but during the following eight years Angelina succeeded in building her career until the point when she hit the glass ceiling.  It was later said that a smaller amount of saltpetre would have avoided the incident, and immediately voices arose claiming to have known all along that women were not suitable for this profession. Lady Filigrane was certainly most displeased about the damage to her conservatory; however, Angelina had escaped with only slight burns and bruises and was determined to make her way, if not in Pseudopolis, then elsewhere.

 

Most of this biography was duly researched and collated by the relevant clerks and presented to Lord Vetinari about a fortnight after Miss Winter’s arrival. He scanned it with an air of only slight amusement.

“Well, Drumknott, Miss Winter seems harmless enough, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Indeed, my Lord. There is, of course, the youngest brother...”

“Ah yes, Henry Nathan Winter. Who would have thought that our little botanist is the sister of one of the up and coming men in the Assassin’s Guild? The report says they are on good terms and meet several times a week, usually in Miss Winter’s lodgings. It fails to state what they do. Do you believe it is likely that they are plotting to overthrow the current government?”

“I believe they play music.”

“Music?”

“Miss Winter mentioned last week that she was going to buy sheet music for herself and her brother and that she was quite delighted with the range available in Ankh-Morpork.”

“Ah. Interesting. Well, you may file this report, Drumknott, it requires no action.”

“Certainly, Sir.”

“Was there anything else?”

“Yes, my lord. We found this.” He handed Vetinari a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “Apparently these were circulated about a week before Miss Winter’s arrival.”

Vetinari glanced at the paper. It had a printed iconograph of Angelina Winter at the top and underneath the words:

 

 **This lady is my sister. I will deal personally and terminally with anybody who lays hands on her, regardless of trade, status or species.**

 **Henry N. Winter, Master Assassin**

 

 

“Good grief, and he thinks _that_ is going to protect her? I see we need a back-up plan here. I want no harm to come to Miss Winter. Her task is more dangerous than she realises, and she undertakes it with the utmost innocence. She will have an escort, but a discreet one. Let her trust her little brother, if she so desires.”

“Understood, my lord. I shall organize a rota.”

Drumknott received the papers out of Vetinari’s hands and proceeded to lead them to their true destination in his filing cabinets.


	3. Chapter 3

Angelina Winter spent the following weeks working conscientiously and systematically on her assignment. She explored the affected area, interviewed residents, collected samples of soil, air, water and plants. And she spent long hours analyzing her samples in her office. This was a spacious room on the ground floor of the palace, adjacent to the palace kitchens and close to the back exit that led out into the coach yard. Office was a presumptuous term for the room that became soon cluttered with jars, tubs, boxes, all manners of alchemist’s equipment, books and folders full of paperwork and every now and then was filled with the rich and mellow sound of Miss Winter singing to herself. One day on coming down the back stairs Vetinari found to his surprise the cooks and kitchen maids lined up along the wall listening at the door to Miss Winter’s office. When they perceived his approach, they scurried back into the kitchens. He paused briefly in the now empty corridor, discerning the fragments of song. Presently, he made a mental note to speak to Drumknott about this and went out to board his carriage.

 

 

\----

 **My dear Cassandra,**

 **Thank you for your letter. I very much enjoyed your account of the guild meeting. That Mr Yuletwite seems to be quite an original. Very funny what you said to him about the financial report! Did he realize you had seen the second copy? I bet people were very impressed with your astute deductions. Papa will be proud of you, I dare say!**

 **Things are going rather well here. I am making good progress with my work and have a few ideas now as to what might be the culprit. Unfortunately this city is so rife with pollution that it is hard to tell which of the many poisons I am finding is to blame for this particular problem. So I am doing a bit of detective work. First I drew up a map of the spread of the affected areas and how they are situated in relation to the major industries. Then I went to visit as many households as I could manage and found out that the illness first began about seven months ago. So now I have to check the factories to see what changes they have made around that time. Mr Drumknott is very helpful and lets me see all sorts of relevant documents. He is really a very obliging young man.**

 **Last week I had a rather unsettling experience. One of the families I visited had a mute little girl in a wheelchair; she must have been about seven or eight. She held out her hand to me and smiled, and I almost burst into tears because she reminded me so much of dear Penny. Her name is Marigold. She has two older brothers, who have made her a little book of leather pages, and on each page they have drawn some pictures. Marigold points to the pictures to tell them what she would like to eat or play or other such things. I wish we had thought of something clever like that for Penny! Sadly, Marigold is of very delicate health and is getting worse now with the “rubber pest”, as people call it. I hope I will be able to help her in that respect soon.**

 **I have had two work lunches with Lord Vetinari, who wanted to check up on my progress, but since there wasn’t much to tell yet in the way of results, we just talked about other things and had a fairly pleasant time. He is a rather interesting man and seemingly very clever. Gives this impression of very superior equanimity and control, but is at the same time deeply concerned about the city and also quite proud of it, I believe. Henry says he is incurably unpopular and rules the city by fear, but Henry has only met Lord Vetinari once and that was at an Assassins’ Guild party. Apparently Lord Vetinari is an assassin himself and is said to be the cleverest student they ever had. I can easily imagine it.**

 **I am becoming quite good friends with Tvoolia Hingh, to the annoyance of Mrs Scunners, who seems paranoid that her boarders will gang up on her, poor woman. A new girl moved in yesterday, well, when I say girl, she is actually a dwarf. Her name is Goldy Jorgensson, and she works as a typesetter for the newspaper. You can imagine that I was a bit surprised, since I had never seen a dwarf in a skirt before. Apparently female dwarf emancipation is a big issue in Ankh-Morpork. Fancy that.**

 **On Octeday I went up to the university to see their Johnson organ and – please don’t think I have gone mad, this is just Ankh-Morpork – there was an orang-utan playing Grutson’s Pepita in G. He turned round and winked at me. Tvoolia told me later that he is employed there as a librarian. The uncanny thing is that I felt I knew him. This city is so strange, I would be completely lost if it wasn’t for Henry and Tvoolia.**

 **My** **dear Cassandra, look after yourself and I hope you are doing good business.**

 **Love from**

 **Lina**

 

\----

 

 

Angelina continued her investigations in situ. Just so that no one, not even herself, could say it had been a foregone conclusion, she had visited several other factories, before she turned her attention to the rubber manufacturers. None of her other calls had wielded any results, so now was the time to find out if popular opinion was right.

 

“Good morning, Miss!” a ratty-looking street vendor addressed her. “This is your lucky day. I have a fantastic bargain here on genuine Klatchian amulets, guaranteed to protect you against the rubber pest. Two dollars, and that’s cutting my own throat. Made from genuine Klatchian Roc feathers, keeps your lungs nice and clear...”

“I wouldn’t depend on it, sir, “said Angelina and walked on.

 

After turning round a corner, she stopped and glanced at her list. A vaguely female looking troll watched her from an open window on the other side of the lane. The rubber factories were clustered around a dingy area at the end of the street. Angelina picked one of the seven names on her list at random and set off to Mr Snaigilla’s Rubber Works. The factory was surrounded by an eight foot wall into which was set a wrought iron gate with a porter’s cabin beside it.

 

“Good morning,” Angelina greeted the porter, “My name is Winter, I am doing an environmental audit for the city. Could I please see somebody who is in charge here?”

The porter sized her up, which was quickly done. He was one of those people who liked to make a little power go a long way.

“Well, I’m the one who is in charge of the gate, doll,” he snarled.

“Yes, that is fairly obvious,” replied Angelina calmly. “However, I would like to speak to Mr Snaigilla or one of the overseers.”

“What if I don’t care who you want to speak to, doll?”

“Then you would be very remiss in fulfilling your duties.”

“Getting smart on me, are you?”

“I have made a polite request, I think it deserves a polite answer.”

“Well, you ain’t getting one, and that’s that. It’s my lunchtime now. Enjoy the day, doll.”

He left the porter’s cabin and strolled off across the factory yard.

 

Angelina peered through the gate and watched him disappear. She saw a couple of men unloading a cart some twenty yards away.

“Excuse me!” she called.

One of the men looked round to her and sauntered over to the gate.

“What’s up, hen? Can’t let any strangers in, orders from the boss.”

“Well, in that case, would you be so good as to inform your boss that the environmental health officer would like to speak to him?”

He looked her down and further down, then he grinned.

“What’s it worth to you, hen?”

The frown wrinkled Angelina’s nose. She looked aside and counted to ten under her breath. Then she leaned forward and said very quietly:

“I do not bribe people. I work for Lord Vetinari on an assignment that His Lordship takes very seriously. It would be much to your advantage to do what I ask you nicely, because otherwise people might become involved who are slightly less polite than I am.”

He threw up his hands defensively.

“Calm it, hen, no need to be like that. I’ll see if Mr Snaigilla is around.”

“Thank you _so_ much,“ hissed Angelina.

 

Waiting in front of the gate did not improve Angelina’s mood. She tapped her foot and turned this way and that with her arms folded, which might have had more impact had she been significantly smaller and of a bluish hue. She noticed that further down the street the troll woman was still watching.

 

After about ten minutes, another man came walking across the yard towards the gate. He was bald and portly with wisps of blonde hair sticking out of his ears.

“I’m Snaigilla. What do you want?" he grunted.

“My name is Winter, I am the environmental health officer and I wish to inspect your premises.”

“Nobody’s going to snoop around my factory, least of all a snooty little miss who threatens my staff.”

Angelina silently added “snooty little miss” to the collection of titles she had received that morning. She wished she was a lot younger so she could have a temper tantrum.

“Your staff,” she replied icily, “have displayed some unwarranted rudeness to me, as, I might add, have you. I, on the other hand, have merely pointed out the possible consequences of trying to extricate a bribe from a city official. I strongly recommend that you open the gate for me now and cooperate.”

“No can do, miss. Try your luck elsewhere,” he said and walked away.

 

Two hours later Angelina marched back up the street, defeated. Six other gates had remained firmly shut in her face, six variations on the theme of “Get lost” had been performed for her in different keys of insolence. She nodded in passing to the troll woman, who was now busily cleaning her windows, and made for the palace, where she went straight to Mr Drumknott.

 

\----

 

 

It was Octeday. On the summit of the Tump, Tvoolia Hingh was leaning back against the walls of the ancient ruin. She stretched out her long legs in front of her and smoothed down her glossy black hair.

“You know, you’re right,” she said, “it does smell a lot better up here.”

Tvoolia was a tall, handsome woman in her twenties. She liked to wear long sweeping skirts of flamboyant materials, like the pink and green striped satin that was currently spreading on the grass around her. Looking down on her own plain navy dress, Angelina reflected briefly what an odd contrast they must present to the casual observer.

“The city is a disgrace,” she replied. She scanned the prospect at their feet. There was the relative idyll of prosperous Ankh with an ample number of trees dotted around, but beyond the river there was nothing but a shambles of black, grey and brown, in which only the University grounds and the palace gardens stood out. Rimwards, dark clouds of smoke swirled across the rooftops. As for the river itself...

 

“Do you think you will be able to clear it up?”

“I? No. I am just recording the data. I do hope, of course, that His Lordship is going to take to heart any advice I will be giving.”

“They say he doesn’t have a heart,” remarked Tvoolia.

“I shall target his brain, then. He’s got plenty of that.”

 

They watched silently as a large, impressive looking woman walked past on the path just below them. She was carrying a baby and spoke to it in the happy, chatty tone of mothers everywhere.

“Look, Sam, that’s our house down there. Your Daddy might be home when we get back. And see up there, the lovely ladies sitting and enjoying a bit of autumn sun. Give a little wave, Sam!”

The baby was clearly too young to wave, so the woman took one of his tiny hands and shook it about in their general direction. Tvoolia and Angelina waved back good-naturedly. The mother continued her self-absorbed conversation with the infant and slowly walked out of sight. Angelina bit her lip. The woman had looked well over forty. Maybe it wasn’t too late yet. She tried to push the thought aside.

 

 

“It sure would be nice,” Tvoolia picked up the conversation again, “if you could see to it that the air gets a bit cleaner. I’m a country girl. I’ve never quite got used to the city stench.”

Angelina hugged her knees and pulled her feet under her dress.

“Why did you come here?“ she asked, quietly, in case it was an unwelcome question.

Tvoolia shrugged.

“Jealousy, I suppose. I was an only child until the age of twelve. Mum and Dad’s treasured princess and all that. Then my mother had triplets. Polly, Peggy and Patty. Can you imagine? Our whole lives were turned upside down, and I was suddenly cast in the role of assistant mum. No more special treats for me. My parents simply doted on these three squirming babies, and I was supposed to grow up almost from one day to the next. It didn’t get better as they got older, either. By the time they were seven, they were the most spoiled brats you can imagine, expecting everybody around them to dance to their tune. I couldn’t stand it anymore. So I came here. My only real skill was sewing, and through the recommendation of a cousin I found a job. It turned out to be a good job and that’s where I have been ever since.”

Angelina sighed and briefly pressed Tvoolia’s hand.

“Poor Tvoolia. It must be so sad to have three sisters and not be friends with them.”

“Well, it’s not too bad. I found that I can make friends more easily in Ankh-Morpork than back home. Oh, look, there’s Goldy coming.”

 

The dwarf was trudging up the path, waving to the two women she discerned above her. After a few minutes she reached the summit.

“Hello, girls,” she panted and pulled out a newspaper from inside her jacket. She handed it to Angelina.

“I thought this might be of interest to your investigation.”

Angelina took the paper and perused the page that Goldy had indicated. Then she folded it up with an irritated gesture.

 

“This is nonsense,” she exclaimed, “Who writes this stuff?”

Goldy, who had sat down on the grass, had meanwhile caught her breath.

“Not one of our people,” she said. “A man came in at lunchtime and paid double the money for the whole advertisement page. So we decided to let all the wedding announcements and once-in-a-life-time-offers wait till tomorrow and put in the text he gave us. We had just started printing, when Mr de Worde came in. He was very cross when he heard about it and insisted that we took it out again. He said it was biased, and that he would personally take the money back. Trouble is, we didn’t get the man’s name, so he doesn’t know where to take it back to. “

She picked up a blade of grass and began to twist it between her fingers.

“That was at the end of my shift, so I don’t know what they’ll eventually do. But I took a copy of the paper for you to see, in case it won’t get printed in the end.”

“Thanks, Goldy, I’m glad you did. Your Mr de Worde it quite right, this account is not only biased but downright false. Whatever it is the trolls use to fry their brains, it will not affect human lungs. I am looking for an airborne substance.”

 

All three glanced at the trails of smoke down in the city.

“The rubber factories after all?” asked Tvoolia.

“Just because a lot of people think that, doesn’t mean that it must be wrong. They wouldn’t let me in on Saturday, none of them, which seems to indicate that they have at least a sneaking suspicion they might be at fault. I’m going down again tomorrow with a note from Lord Vetinari saying that I’m doing an official environmental audit and they have to let me in.”

“Be careful,” said Goldy. “If there are people with money involved, then they’ll be able to hire more than just a page in the newspaper.”

Angelina shrugged.

“How exactly would I be careful? It’s not as if I could take an axe with me or something.”

“Why not? That’s what I would do,” said Goldy.

“Because unlike you I would probably amputate one of my own toes with it.”

“I could give you lessons...” began Goldy.

“Thanks, but I’d rather remain unarmed,” said Angelina firmly.

They sat silently for a while, taking in the sight of Ankh-Morpork in all its splendour and despair.

“Let’s go home,” said Tvoolia eventually, “It’s getting cold.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to feel the chill, too. Goldy, please show me the way to that baker’s shop again, will you?” said Angelina while she brushed dirt off her dress. “The figgins there were delicious.”

Talking of pasties, the three assorted females made their way back down into the filthy city.

 

 

\----

 

 

On Monday morning Angelina set off directly from home towards the Slaughterhouse District.

Her hand repeatedly slipped into her bag to check for the reassuring presence of Lord Vetinari’s note. It was an impressive looking piece of paper, with the Ankh-Morpork crest and the V seal on black wax. She had every confidence in it.

 

When she turned into the street that led to the rubber factories, she wondered why it was so deserted. The other day quite a number of people had been going about their business. Today only the troll woman stared morosely out of her window. Angelina gave her another friendly nod and walked by.

 

She was about a hundred yards away from the gates to Mr Snaigilla’s factory, when two men stepped out of an alley and barred her way. Their looks said it all. No amount of political correctness would have been able to call them anything but thugs. One of them carried a non-descript piece of iron pipe. Angelina dropped her bag. Screaming would be of no use. She was a reasonably good runner, she wondered if she could make it to the troll woman’s house. She turned around, only to find a third man waiting behind her. In a split second she calculated the number of life saving options and found them to be zero. Then she saw how the man’s eyes widened and she heard some commotion behind her: a thud, a groan, a rustle. The thug in front of her did not wait for the operations of whatever justice was being dealt out; he took himself off in a hurry.

 

Cautiously she looked around. The two other men were lying on the ground with a decidedly incapacitated appearance. Next to them stood a slender young man with a thin face and short brown curls. He was dressed completely in black.

“Miss Winter? Are you all right?”

“Who are you?” she gasped.

The young man smiled and made the mere suggestion of a bow.

“My name is Constantin. I am your body guard. Lord Vetinari anticipated an incident like this and took precautions accordingly.”

“Oh.” It took a while for this to sink in.

“Oh,“ she repeated. “Well, I thank you very much. I was beginning to get rather scared.”

“Quite understandably.” He picked up her bag and handed it to her. “If you are not too shaken, Miss Winter, I suggest that you persist in your mission. I think it might be best if I accompany you today. Accompany you visibly, that is.”

 

The porter sneered when he saw her approaching.

“Have ye brought a little friend, doll? Won’t do you much good, believe me.”

Angelina pulled the document out of her bag and held it up in front of him.

“This is a letter from the Patrician. Can you read? Open the gate for me, please.”

The porter grinned smugly.

“You have a piece of paper, doll, I have a key.”

Then the grin froze on his face. The tip of a blade was pressing disagreeably against his throat.

“Say sorry to the lady,” said Constantin pleasantly. “And give that key to me.”

 

Two minutes later Mr Snaigilla looked up in surprise.

“You? How the hell did you get...?”

“ _Mister_ Snaigilla! _What_ a pleasure,” cooed Angelina sweetly.

 

 

 **\----**

“Mr Drumknott?”

“How can I help you, Miss Winter?”

“Do we have an incident log?”

The clerk suddenly looked worried.

“Errr...should we have one, Miss Winter?”

“Under the current circumstances I would appreciate it.”

Drumknott glanced towards the fireplace.

“We have some very fine pine logs here, Miss Winter, but I do not know how... err... incidental they are.”

Miss Winter laughed.

“I mean a book, Mr Drumknott. A book to write in things that happen.”

“What kind of things, Miss Winter? I hope you haven’t been assaulted again?”

“No no. But I believe things like attempts to bribe Ankh-Morpork’s environmental health officer in order to get her to suppress certain results of her investigation ought to be recorded somewhere.”

“Oh, that kind of thing. Yes, we have such a book. I call it the Trouble Book.”

“Ah, that’s a suitable name. Yes, I believe there will be trouble about this.”

 

 

\----

 

 

 **My dear Cassandra,**

 **what a time I’ve had! After that ridiculous business with none of the rubber manufacturers letting me onto the premises, I went back there on Monday morning with an official letter from His Lordship, which I believed would sort the problem. Looking back now, it maybe wouldn’t have, but as it turned out I didn’t have to depend on it.**

 **It is appalling what kind of bullies live in this city. I was actually waylaid by three really threatening thugs, and I don’t think it is a great mystery who set them on me. Believe me, I would not have known how to cope with them, but fortunately a rather charming young assassin took care of them for me. Because, amazing as this may be, His Lordship has given me these secret bodyguards, who have been watching my every step for weeks. As you can easily imagine, that was not at all an idea which appealed to me, though of course under the circumstances I was very glad of it. Well, I had some serious words with His Lordship about my privacy and all that and also about wasting the city’s resources, and eventually he at least agreed that Constantin and his colleagues would only shadow me during my work hours.**

 **But I have gone ahead of my story. The really useful thing about Constantin that day was the fact that you don’t need to argue when you’ve got an assassin with you. I inspected three factories that day and four on the next, and nobody dared to give me any cheek. So I have all the samples I need now and a fairly clear idea of what I am going to find.**

 **I didn’t get much of a chance to do serious work today, though, because before I even left the house in the morning I had to deal with the greatest insolence yet. A man came to Mrs Scunners’, sat in the lounge bold as brass when I came down for breakfast and “confidentially” offered me 1000 dollars in return for me “misplacing” my samples and analyzing another set that he would provide. So I said to him: “Let me be rightly understood. This transaction, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. I am an officer of the city and I will not be bribed.” I said it so loudly that Mrs Scunners popped her head through the door, and that scared him away.**

 **I must say, this episode upset me more than all the other trouble, and with one thing or another I was actually late getting to the palace, where I reported the whole incident to Mr Drumknott. Not much later Lord Vetinari came and asked me various questions, and when he noticed how agitated I was he said I should take the rest of the day off and he would see to it that nobody would bother me again. So this is me back in my room now. I will play some music to calm myself down. Hope you are well, regards to Joaquin.**

 **Lots of Love**

 **Lina**

 **PS: I haven’t forgotten about your questions regarding the opera, but am not in the mood to answer them today. Will write about that some other time.**

 **L.**


	4. Chapter 4

Miss Winter submitted her report to Lord Vetinari four days before Hogswatch. It comprised forty-five carefully handwritten pages, including tables, graphs and diagrams. It also included some unwelcome news. The next morning as she was tidying up her equipment, Vetinari unexpectedly stepped in, her report in his hands. He gestured silently towards the group of chairs near the desk and they sat down.

“Miss Winter, we need to talk about this report.”

 

She inclined her head in agreement and so they talked at length, she with animated gestures, presenting lists and charts and generating an aura of expert conviction, he with a steadily deepening expression of dissatisfaction.

“...and I am absolutely positive that this new type of raw rubber from Hersheba is contaminated with significant amounts of Troglodyne, which enters the atmosphere via the factory exhausts.”

“Miss Winter, I happen to have a degree in alchemy, yet this substance is entirely unknown to me.”

Miss Winter paused and looked at him with a mixture of respect and amusement.

“I believe, my lord, I studied a little bit later than you did,” she said diplomatically. And I’ve seen the text books they have at the guild, she added to herself. Well, I suppose all _they_ try to do is kill people.

“Alchemy is a rapidly developing science, my lord, and a number of new elements have been discovered in recent years, among them Troglodyne. Troglodyne is very toxic, very dangerous. It affects the respiratory system and possibly the brain. There would not have been a problem while they used the be Trobi rubber.”

“But the be Trobi rubber is more expensive, is it not?”

“Yes. Transport costs, I believe. Nevertheless, in the interest of public health, the factories should immediately return to using only be Trobi rubber.”

The Patrician rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I assume you have had some thoughts about how the factory owners will react to that? Do you have any suggestions how I should deal with the major outcry there will be if the prices of rubber products increase? Or the affronted notes I will get from the Hershebean Consul?”

“No, my lord, I haven’t. That is your job. I have done mine.”

 

Vetinari raised his eyebrow, but she met his stare with equanimity. Then he sighed.

“Fair enough. You have completed your assignment as per my orders, so I shall act upon it. Now for the last section of your report. You are telling me that there are likely to be several other branches of industry that produce similarly harmful emissions?”

“Samples I collected in different parts of the city suggest that, yes.”

“Isn’t a certain amount of pollution to be expected in a city of this size?”

“A certain amount, yes. The levels that I am finding here, no.”

The Patrician turned to the last page of the report and glanced over its contents.

“I am not convinced that I should do anything about this. The city has lived with pollution for as long as people can remember, and before the current problem there has never been any real harm in that. What reason would I have to interfere?”

“You mean apart from the moral obligation not to allow a million people to be slowly poisoned?” she replied.

“Is that, in fact, the case?” he asked.

“Well, I cannot be sure until a more thorough investigation, but I wouldn’t be surprised if, for example, infant mortality turned out to be much higher in Ankh-Morpork than elsewhere.”

“Ah. Infant mortality is maybe not the most important issue to tackle in an overpopulated city.”

“For shame, my lord,” cried Miss Winter. “That is no joking matter. If you are concerned about overpopulation, you should advocate higher education for women.”

“Indeed?”

“Well, it has worked for me, hasn’t it?” she said, then she blushed and continued hastily: “Besides, there are other reasons for reducing pollution. A healthier workforce would be more productive and have a positive effect on the city’s businesses. And I believe there is a serious danger of a city-wide epidemic emerging from that river. With the limited medical facilities available here, that might well mean that Ankh-Morpork could be wiped off the map. In fact, I think it must be a matter of sheer luck that this has not yet happened.”

“Why has nobody else told me that before?”

“Who did you ask?”

 

Fingertips touching his lips, the Patrician sat for a while with his eyes closed. Then he seemed to have reached a conclusion, for he rose from his seat.

“I believe you may be right, Miss Winter. I had a different task in mind for you next, but it seems you have already set your heart on another project, and a more urgent one at that. You’d better look into this. I expect a complete analysis of all harmful substances you can find in the city environment, of their origin and the potential damage they do. Make a plan. Explain precisely what you are going to investigate and in what order. Start with the river. This will be your job from now on until further notice. I am afraid I cannot promote you as you are already the manager of your department. Will you be satisfied with a pay rise?”

She smiled. “That is unnecessary, my lord, but not entirely unwelcome.”

“Fine. I shall instruct the payroll officer accordingly.”

 

She expected him to make his exit then; instead he got up and wandered about the room, seemingly inspecting various alchemical apparatuses.

“I hear you are musical,” he said suddenly.

“I play the flute. The harp, too, though I had to leave that at home. I miss it sorely, but it is quite impossible to transport. What about yourself?”

“I prefer to read music.”

 

She smiled. “You are kidding me. You mean you like to just sit in a corner and read the score?”

“Indeed. I abhor the thought of music being defiled by the sweat and saliva of musicians. It should stay on the sheet, where it is pure and perfect.”

“A rather elitist view, I dare say.”

“Is it?”

 “Yes, it is. There are a great many people with a capacity to appreciate music, but very few who can sight-read well.”

“It would be up to them to learn,” replied Vetinari coldly.

“No, don’t be silly! What about the little baby, or the old man who never even learned to read letters? What about the man behind the plough or the woman doing the washing?”

“I would not expect such people to have much of a capacity to appreciate music.”

“You’d be surprised, my lord. For many ordinary people, music is a way to transcend their otherwise prosaic existence.”

“You mean such as my kitchen staff? Are you aware, Miss Winter, that palace staff regularly stand in the corridor outside your office to listen to you singing?”

She blushed.

“No, my lord, I was not aware of that. But it rather supports my argument, doesn’t it?”

Noticing Vetinari’s dissatisfied expression, she continued:

“You have a valid point, though. Performed music is rarely perfect. It is subject to a great deal of struggle before it becomes even presentable. But then, one needs to ask if perfection is what the composer aimed for.”

“What else would he aim for?” snapped the Patrician, pointing his cane at her. She leaned back, bemused.

“You are getting all worked up, my lord. This is not like you. You are supposed to be rational and dispassionate, you know. And music is not a topic one should quarrel about. Anyway, there are other things than perfection that are desirable. Expression, for example. Performed music can be intense, immediate, existing only for the present moment and encompassing the emotions and personalities of all the performers. A whole that is more than the sum of its parts. In comparison to that, the perfection of the score is somewhat sterile, don’t you think?”

“I would prefer sterile to saturated, thank you very much Miss Winter. And music is not supposed to breed. Good day.”

Vetinari walked out, frowning. As he ascended the stairs to his office he had to endure the unpleasant feeling that while he had no intention to relinquish his opinion, somebody else’s view might actually have more merit.

 

 

\----

 

The representatives of the Guild of Rubber Manufacturers were clearly displeased. Several incidents in the last two weeks had not been to their liking, though most of these they would not openly address at this meeting. Their agreed strategy required that they appeared as victims of a political intrigue. Therefore their spokesman had just pointed out to the Patrician that they objected strongly to the way they had been spied upon. Lord Vetinari leaned back in his chair and surveyed the assembled factory owners slowly.

 

“Spies, gentlemen? Let us ascertain that we are using the same terminology here.  I understand a spy to be a conniving person of considerable devious resources who gains information by methods of cunning and secrecy. Is that a definition we can all consent to, Mr Graves?”

Mr Graves, thus singled out from the group, shifted uneasily in his seat and nodded a reluctant agreement.

“Whereas,” continued Vetinari, “I sent to your gates a person whose cunning on a scale of one to ten I would gauge somewhere in the region of, let’s say, minus two? Or does your impression of the environmental health officer suggest a different assessment, Mr Hayden?”

Mr Hayden shuffled his feet but could not think of a reply that would challenge the Patrician’s evaluation. He had actually thought the woman laughable.

“Shall we conclude then, that espionage is not the appropriate term to apply here? Good. I am of the opinion that _audit_ is the word you were really looking for. Do you question the city’s right to conduct audits of its most vital industries?”

 

By then Mr Farway, the spokesman, had regained his initiative.

“We were, of course, happy to cooperate with Miss Winter in the execution of the audit, but we are raising questions as to the transparency of the procedure. There was no decision made in the Guild Council prior to the audit.”

“You may find this surprising, Mr Farway, but I am actually not dependent on the Guild Council’s approval for the implementation of routine procedures. But I do understand that in the absence of your guild leader you might lack information as to...”

“Yes, what have you done to Snaigilla?” Mr Graves suddenly burst out.

Lord Vetinari turned his gaze on the man.

“Mr Snaigilla is on holiday, Mr Graves. Quirm, I believe. You know, they have the floral clock.”

“Quite so, my lord,” said Mr Farway, glaring at Mr Graves. “Mr Snaigilla certainly deserves a break. Meanwhile all we want is to assure that all procedures concerning the guild have been conducted correctly.”

“Let me assure you that they have. Of course you, Mr Farway, will be able to give me your word that all your dealings with Miss Winter have been absolutely correct, too?”

“Of course, we have...”

“And did by no means include intimidation, threat or attempted bribery?”

 

Mr Farway had been prepared for this.

“We were sorry to hear that Miss Winter has been troubled by common muggers, but you will find it difficult to gain any evidence that will connect this incidence with the guild.”

“Yes,” said Lord Vetinari.

“Yes...?”

“Yes. It was difficult to gain the evidence. That is why it took almost two weeks.”

The manufacturers fell silent as the Patrician pulled a slim folder towards him that had been sitting on the edge of his desk.

“However, comprehensive evidence is now in my hands. Therefore, gentlemen, I suggest that you agree swiftly to the deal I am about to propose to you, unless you want to share the fate of Mr Snaigilla.”

The men stared at him. Vetinari looked up from the folder and smiled.

“Quirm can be very dull in the winter months, or so I understand. Are you quite well, Mr Farway?”

 

\----

 

 

In a little room in a small boarding house next to a bookshop in Short Street, Angelina and Henry Winter sat head to head, poring over a music stand, pointing to different passages in animated talk.

“I am still not pleased with the dynamics here.”

“You mean I’m too loud.”

“No, no. Just that the flute is hard to hear in the lower range...”

“You may as well say I am drowning you.”

“All right then, you are drowning me.”

 

Henry Winter smiled. Angelina considered her brother with the indulgence of the older sibling. He was a ginger-haired man in his late twenties, handsome in a careless, dashing way, and he wore assassin’s black with the casual confidence of somebody who suits anything, but certainly knows what suits him best. Only somebody with his natural style could be a red-head, an assassin _and_ look cool playing a cello.  

“Let’s try again from bar 56; I’ll mark it as piano if mezzo piano isn’t good enough for you. Where did I put my pencil?”

“Behind your ear, silly.”

 

They worked their way twice through Fondel’s Fantasia in b minor, comparing notes on difficult phrases in between. Later they sat at the rickety little table drinking tea and munching figgins that Henry had bought from a street vendor.

 

“So how’s your report gone down?” asked Henry, adding four spoons of sugar to his cup.

Angelina put her hand over the sugar basin.

“You know that’s bad for your teeth. And don’t grin at me like that, if it hasn’t ruined them by now, it can still do so over the years. Anyway, the report went down fine. Lord Vetinari has promised to take the necessary steps.”

“He didn’t mind about the Hershebean rubber?”

“I think he minded a bit, but I told him how dangerous the Troglodyne was, and he saw my point. He agreed that the whole issue of pollution in this city needs to be looked at very carefully. Oh, and he gave me a pay rise. Which I think is fair enough, given that he’s piled even more responsibility on my feeble shoulders. But he was quite amiable.”

 

Henry grinned deviously.

“Amiable is not a term one often hears associated with the Patrician,” he remarked.

“Well, I dare say he can be a bit spiky at times,” she replied, recalling their row about music. “But by and large I see nothing wrong with him. Does he really have such a bad reputation?”

“Depends on who you ask. Old Downey would tell you he is a presumptuous upstart, Commander Vimes of the City Watch would probably call him a cunning bastard, and the people in the street tend to blame him for anything from their boils to last week’s rain of coping saws – though it seems that women generally look upon him more kindly.”

 

A puzzled frown wrinkled Angelina’s nose.

“But the city appears to be thriving. Surely that must be largely due to his competence?”

“Competence doesn’t make a man popular,” said Henry.

“Well, I think it is very sad for him if people don’t acknowledge his merits.”

“I don’t think he minds much.”

“I would mind if I were him,” said Angelina wistfully and sank her teeth into a figgin.

Henry laughed. “I bet you would. It’s just as well you don’t have his job.”

She nodded, and brushed crumbs off her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Probably.”

“He is an assassin, did you know that? Trained in the proud tradition of our guild,” he said with a grin.

“Yes, yes, you mentioned that before. That doesn’t make him worse than _you_ , does it? Anyway, what would you like to play next week? I have Grimaldi’s Summer Variations, a set of country airs by Vernell and some lovely stuff by that Uberwaldian composer with the unpronounceable name.”

“Huxtebude? Yes, I think I’d like to give that a try.”

“It would be much nicer, if we had the harp, though I suppose that cannot be helped. At least it means I’m safe from you calling me a harpy...”

“I’ll think of something else to call you,” teased Henry.

Their conversation returned to music, while they peacefully sipped their tea and the winter rain trickled down the window.

 

\----

 

 

Three weeks after the submission of Miss Winter’s first report, Drumknott approached the Patrician with a worried expression.

“Yes, Drumknott, what is the matter?”

“It is Miss Winter, my lord. She insists on seeing you immediately. I have told her that you are busy, but she will not go away. She seems very angry.”

“Did we dock her salary?”

“No, my lord.”

“Any deliveries of test tubes gone astray?”

“Not that I know of, my lord.”

They both paused and listened to the sound of their environmental health officer pacing impatiently around the outer office. The Patrician sighed.

“Well, Drumknott, let her come in and I shall see if I can pacify her.”

“Certainly, my lord.”

As soon as Drumknott opened the door, Miss Winter stormed in and flung a copy of the Ankh-Morpork Times onto his desk. Vetinari looked up at her and raised an eye-brow.

 

“They are still using the Hershebean rubber! I was down at the factories this morning, and they are still using it. You have done nothing to stop them, and now there are two little children dead!”

“Sit down, Miss Winter.”

 

She began to walk up and down in front of his desk.

“I have told you, haven’t I? It was all there in my report. It was the change from be Trobi to Hershebean rubber that caused the dangerous emissions. I have told you this, and it was up to you to stop it. Why haven’t you done anything about it?”

“ _Sit down_ , Miss Winter!”

 

“I wonder why you took the trouble to employ me if you’re going to pay no heed to my advice. I told you it was the Hershebean rubber. Toxic Troglodyne, I recall with perfect clarity that I explained that to you. I said it had to stop immediately. Now there are two families bereaved, and it would have been entirely avoidable if you had but acted on my advice!”

 

Miss Winter ranted on for a while in this manner, but eventually she ran out of steam and sat down on the chair in front of his desk. Her face was crimson and she bit her lip.  Vetinari did not move a muscle.

 

“Are you quite finished?” he said. “Mr Drumknott, a glass of water for Miss Winter, please, and the file about the Guild of Rubber Manufacturers.”

Drumknott, who had been standing by the open door, unable to draw himself away from this unusual spectacle, disappeared noiselessly. Vetinari touched his lips with his steepled fingers and looked at her coolly.

“Before you have me burned at the stake for incompetence, Miss Winter, I advise _you_ to rein in your temper. I am not sure what your previous experience with authority is, but you must be aware that a less enlightened ruler would consider your appearance here as deeply offensive and would act accordingly.”

 

Drumknott came back, carefully placing a folder and a glass of water on the desk, then he slid out of the room.

“Drink the water, Miss Winter.”

“I...”

“Drink the water!”

 

She drank obediently, an effort which forced her to steady her trembling hands and gasping breath.

The Patrician opened the folder and wordlessly handed her a sheet of paper. She perused it in silence.

“As you see, Miss Winter, the Guild of Rubber Manufacturers has decided at their meeting last night that as of next week the use of any kind of raw rubber other than the be Trobi kind will be prohibited within the City of Ankh-Morpork. I don’t want to bore you with details, but I will mention that this decision is the result of some well-considered steps I took during the last three weeks. There will be no more Hershebian rubber processed in the city. Are you satisfied?”

 

She did not lift her eyes off the paper and replied in a very quiet voice:

“That does not bring the two children back to life.”

Vetinari threw up his hands in a gesture of exasperation.

“Miss Winter,” he said slowly and deliberately, “sad as the event may be for the concerned families, things like this do happen in a busy city. Ankh-Morpork is, figuratively speaking, a rather large omelette, and the breaking of some eggs is often unavoidable. One of the children, I hear, was a cripple.”

Her head shot up and she stared at him white faced.

“And that makes it all right, is that what you are saying?” she demanded.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say...”

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t, but that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Just a cripple, so what does it matter.“

She rose off the chair and began pacing the room again. Vetinari watched her with a carefully neutral face.

“You don’t care three straws about people, do you? What’s a couple of children to you, just something to fall by the wayside in the busy life of your wonderful city! And nobody cares for a cripple anyway. Oh, what do you know about it, you know nothing!”

 

She sank down on the chair again and Vetinari noticed to his surprise that tears were welling up in her eyes. And then it all came out. About Marigold and her brothers at first, but very soon she was talking about her own baby sister, who had never learned to walk or talk, but who had been the darling treasure of the family. Who had laughed and smiled and clapped to the music, but who in spite of all the love and care lavished upon her by her devoted parents and siblings had died shortly after her fifth birthday. And about nine-year-old Angelina, who, beside herself with grief, had pulled out her hair and smashed her toys and vowed to never, ever forget little Penelope.

 

“But you have no idea,” she sobbed. “You are like all these other people who see a child on crutches or in a wheelchair and think it’s ‘just a cripple’. They never realize that each one of them is somebody’s beloved child.”

 

Vetinari walked over to her and handed her a handkerchief, then he stood beside her silently until her sobs had died away. Eventually, Miss Winter dried her tears and crunched up the handkerchief in her hand.

“I am sorry, my lord,” she whispered. “I just got so upset.”

He sighed almost imperceptibly.

“Oh, well. Don’t be sorry, it serves no purpose. I had indeed assumed that the death of that child had relieved the family of a burden. But I may have been wrong.”

She sat, looking down on her hand, which was opening and closing around the crumpled handkerchief.

 

“I hope you realize though, dear Miss Winter, that I did not in fact neglect your advice. It is regrettable that such victims have occurred, but it would have been impossible to advance the case any quicker. One might as well blame _you_ for not submitting your report earlier.”

“But I had to...” she began; then her voice trailed off. “I see,” she said quietly.

“Ah, I am glad about that. Now I hope you have composed yourself sufficiently to return to your duties. An appointment of public importance requires me to go out in about...,” he glanced at a pocket watch, “...oh, four minutes.  I shall ask Mr Drumknott to send you a cup of tea down to your office.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

 

Five minutes later the Patrician sat in his carriage and wondered when he had last called somebody “dear”. He couldn’t remember.


	5. Chapter 5

Following this episode Miss Winter strove to show Lord Vetinari that her emotional outburst had been a singular occurrence. She kept her dealings with him to an absolute minimum and was brisk and professional in all she said. The Patrician felt strangely thwarted by this behaviour, as if the story she had confided in him entitled him to a more cordial intercourse. Thus he in turn sought her out, asked her advice on a number of alchemical matters which he would not otherwise have considered relevant, offered to teach her to play Thud!, which she politely declined, and proposed a tour of Empirical Crescent, which she accepted. He noticed that she relaxed her stiff manner if he made her laugh, and he found that he had a decided talent for being witty in her presence. After that outing she resumed her cheerful and open manner and they met and conversed rather more often than would have been necessary.

 

 **\----**

One foggy evening when Angelina was on her way home, she found herself addressed by a rumbling voice from a pool of shadows between two buildings.

“Are you der lady dat tole people it wasn’t trolls?”

A large hulking figure, one arm behind the back, stepped out in front of her, and she recognised the troll woman who had been watching her in the Slaughterhouse District.

“I beg your pardon?” she said.

“You der one dat say it wasn’t trolls dat make people ill?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. That was part of my job, you know. I found out that the Hershebean rubber used in the factories was contaminated with significant amounts of Troglodyne and therefore…”

Her voice trailed off when she realized that she had lost her audience. The troll woman’s face had gone blank.

“I fink you should take dis,” she said and thrust her fist forward. Angelina looked up in perplexity at the bundle proffered to her. There, tightly bunched together, she could identify a twig of holly, a thistle, three white Madonna lilies, a bramble creeper, a celery stalk, some stinging nettles, a rhubarb leaf and an exquisite, flaming red long-stemmed rose.

“Dat’s oograah,” said the troll helpfully.

Angelina was at a loss. She knew most of what there is to know about plants, but what she knew about trolls could be written on the nail of her thumb.

“Is there a special meaning to this?” she asked, carefully taking the prickly bunch.

The troll woman considered the question.

“Der meaning is dat trolls round here know you a good lady. You not listen to dem lies dat trolls make people ill. You go and find out dat really is factories. So you get lovely oograah and dat shows dat trolls have good manners.”

It dawned on Angelina that she was being presented with a bouquet.

“Well, I thank you,” she said and smiled. “That is really very kind of you.”

“You like dis oograah?”

“I think I can safely say that I will never forget it,” said Angelina. The nettles were tingling on her fingers.

The troll woman beamed.

“Dat’s good,” she declared and lurched away into the shadows.

 

 

\----

 

 

By the suggestive force of precedents which both ascribed to chance, it had become the custom that Miss Winter submitted weekly reports personally to Vetinari in the Oblong Office, where she usually found herself engaged in half an hour’s conversation with him, and that he would later call upon her to discuss the report and not seldom various other topics. It was in this context that he stepped into the room one day finding a fearful looking apparition, who was gingerly pouring a bluish liquid from a beaker into a crucible. He was unconcerned, because he knew from previous visits how Miss Winter maintained the possession of her eyebrows and her immaculate complexion. The leather mask and goggles may have been startling, but they were certainly efficient in preserving a more pleasing sight underneath.

 

“Stand back, my lord, this is a tricky one!”

A certain urgency in her voice prompted him to seek cover instantly. Seconds later there was a WHOOOMP! noise and the room was filled with a nauseating smell. They coughed as they both ran towards the windows.

“You know, Miss Winter, sometimes I think the most dangerous environmental health hazard in the city is this room.”

She drew down her mask and gasped for breath.

“This doesn’t usually happen. Too much zinc powder, most likely”

They both inhaled deeply the comparatively fresh air that came in through the open window. Vetinari smoothed his robes. He reflected briefly that he now had two rooms in his palace that he could only enter with great caution and that both contained a person to whom normal standards did not quite apply. However, that was where the similarities ended...

 

“Just out of interest, why does a genteel young woman decide to become an alchemist?”

“Like you say, my lord: Just out of interest.”

“Ah, yes. The prospect of acid holes in every dress and rooms full of alchemical stench must have been irresistible.”

“Are you poking fun at me?”

“What do you think, Miss Winter?”

“Stop it!”

Vetinari raised an eyebrow, but the effect was lost on Miss Winter, who was still leaning out of the open window. He tapped the floor with his cane until she looked round.

“I believe, Miss Winter, a neutral observer might come to the conclusion that you show a certain lack of respect for your employer and Patrician.”

“I am very sorry. Stop it, _my lord_.”

 

The Patrician smiled and sat down in the wooden chair by the window.

“You are not the slightest bit afraid of me, are you, Miss Winter?”

She looked genuinely surprised.

“No, why should I?”

“Why indeed. What is the worst I could do to you, after all?”

Miss Winter considered this.

“Fire me? It would be a rather drastic step just because you think I’m a bit pert, but I suppose you might do that. To prove your point. But on the whole I believe you wouldn’t, because then you would be lumbered with the problem of finding a replacement for me.”

“You do know, don’t you, that I have mime artists hung upside down over the scorpion pit next to a sign saying LEARN THE WORDS?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And that does not worry you?”

“I could imagine that in the circumstances, they learn the words fairly quickly.”

Vetinari grinned.

“Usually within a few hours, yes.”

“And then you release them?”

“What else could I do? We pack them into an overnight mail coach to Genua or some other suitably remote place. Miss Winter, I would be grateful if you kept this to yourself. It would not help my reputation if it became known that nobody has in fact died in the scorpion pit these twelve years.”

“Depend on my discretion.”

“That is not to say that I have not had people put to death, you know. The regular way.”

“I am shocked. You must be the only ruler on the Disc to allow capital punishment!”

 

Their eyes met and they shared a brief smile. Vetinari rested his hand on the windowsill and glanced out into the yard.

“Do you think I am a tyrant, Miss Winter?”

“Let me see.” She counted up on her fingers:  “This is a city state. You rule with absolute personal authority and are answerable to nobody. The Patricianship has replaced monarchy, so the position has fallen to you by merit of your own excellence, rather than dynastic rule. So, yes, I would say you are a tyrant.”

“I see you have read Ephebian history.”

“My father specialises in that field.”

“Nevertheless,” Vetinari continued, “you know well enough that there is another, more popular understanding of the term.”

“A ruthless and despotic brute? Are you seriously asking me this question?”

 

Vetinari gave no reply. Miss Winter put her goggles away, brushed some ashes off her dress and closed the window.

“If this worries you, my lord…”

She tried to read his expression, to no avail.

“I believe, my lord, that you like to project this image, because it is a useful tool for you. It also gives you, I think, some devious enjoyment. You seem rather successful, given how many people, even among the civic dignitaries, seem to adopt this image. It puzzles me how they can fail to see how conscientious you are and how dedicated to the benefit of the city.”

“That, my dear Miss Winter, does not puzzle me in the slightest. What benefits the city is often not identical with the benefit of our, ahem, civic dignitaries.”

“Now you are being cynical.”

“I speak from experience. But I have been sidetracked. I came on business. Can you speak in front of the guild council next week?”

“I certainly can. What do you want me to say?”

“Just give the facts.”

“Ha! You mean I should refrain from comment. Very well, I leave that to you.”

“Capital. I shall follow your talk with alacrity.”

He left the room swiftly and hummed under his breath as he ascended the stairs.

 

 

\----

 

 

On a crisp and sunny Sunday at the end of February, four people sat in a hired coach on the way to the seaside resort of Limonum. Tvoolia, Goldy and Angelina had been planning this outing for a while, and Henry had joined them on a whim. The plan was to stay the night at an inn and return to Ankh-Morpork on Octeday. They arrived around noon and wavered between the “Blue Lias” and the “Pearl of Ankh”, but Henry took charge and secured rooms for them in the latter. After a hurried lunch they walked down to the shore.

 

Limonum was a small, but ancient settlement, far enough from the city and from the estuary to smell of nothing but salt water and seaweed. Its bustling little harbour was protected by a sweeping stone jetty that protruded into the ocean in a large curve. Beyond it was a pleasant stretch of sandy beach, which the four approached eagerly. There they stood and gazed, as all must linger and gaze on a first return to the sea, who ever deserve to look on it at all.

 

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” declared Henry, “that a group of city dwellers on an outing to the seaside must go on a treasure hunt. Off you go and find what you can find! We meet in half an hour over there.” He pointed to a formation of rocks at the far end of the beach.

 

Laughing and chatting they set off, soon to be dispersed along the shore line. Seagulls cruised over their heads, their plaintive cries combining with the rushing of the wind and the splashing of the waves to create that peculiar seaside mood which fills the heart of any perceptive person with joy. Angelina ran along the line where the waves hit the sand, her hair flowing behind her. “Here’s harmony,” she thought, “here’s repose. Here’s what may leave all painting and all music behind, and what poetry only can attempt to describe.” Her eyes scanned the horizon, where dazzling sunshine reflected on the water.

 

When they met again, breathless and with tousled hair, they displayed their treasures: Tvoolia had brought a large, perfect cockle shell, Goldy a tarnished coin, Henry a long and curiously twisted piece of driftwood and Angelina a delicately patterned shard of egg shell. They admired each other’s finds with much mirth and cheer. As they sat resting on the rocks, blinking into the sun, Tvoolia mused:

“I wonder if these treasures mean anything special? Do you think that perhaps they stand for our secret wishes? If you could choose one dream for yourself that would become true, what would it be?”

 

They all looked at their treasures.

“Well, mine seems quite fitting,” said Goldy, contemplating the coin on her palm. “For me it’s wealth. I know it sounds odd, you know, such a cliché for a dwarf, but I really think that acquiring a comfortable fortune and setting up my own business is the thing for me. Then there’d be nobody to boss me around and I’d know that whatever happened to me would be the result of my own decisions.”

Tvoolia smiled dreamily and ran a slender hand over her hair. She held the shell against her blouse where she thought the heart was.

“I choose love,” she said. “I am hopelessly romantic and I cannot imagine anything better than to be the one special person for someone who is the one special person for me. What about you, Mr Winter?”

Henry made a small bow in her direction and grinned.

“I salute your choice, Miss Hingh. It is entirely appropriate for you. As for myself, I am too vain to be contented with one person. I seek success and the admiration of many. My choice is status.” He held the branch up like a sceptre.

“And you, Lina? I don’t see where the egg shell comes into it, but I bet you choose knowledge.”

 

All three turned their faces towards Angelina, who laughed.

 “No no, I fear I know too much already. It doesn’t make you popular. You know what they say: A woman, if she have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.”

She was drawing patterns in the sand with her boot.

 “Yours are all good goals, “ she continued slowly. “I think I would want a bit of each of them. But ultimately...ultimately I believe the best thing one can hope for in life is to become the person one really is. You know, like for the inside and the outside of one’s life to match. Does that make any sense?”

They considered this silently.

“And that,” she added, “could include any of the choices you mentioned, as long as they are what is really right for you.”

“Lina’s right,” said Tvoolia. “As long as we don’t seek things to make up for something else we cannot get. We should have true convictions.”

“Philosophy!” exclaimed Henry. “Now we are entering dangerous territory. I must insist to distract, or rather lead back to the original theme. What person is it that you want to become, Lina?”

“You know, I rather think I already am who I want to be,” she replied.

“Lucky you, you can save yourself a lot of money on those build-your-own-personality books,” said Goldy, and gentle laughter dispersed the serious atmosphere.

 

The sun was already low when they walked back along the shore towards the town. When they reached the harbour, Tvoolia, in high spirits, clambered onto the jetty wall, jumped down on a pile of coiled ropes and promptly twisted her ankle. Henry and Angelina had to support her back to the inn, where Goldy expertly applied a mustard compress. Their dinner was a cheerful and animated affair, but soon afterwards the sea air took its toll and they sought their beds.

 

The next day, with Tvoolia’s ankle preventing them from taking another walk, they hired a rowing boat and drifted around in the harbour. Henry had insisted on being quite the gentleman and rowing the ladies about, but at last had to confess amidst much hilarity that he had never been in a boat before. It was Goldy who, though similarly inexperienced, found a way of managing the oars and steered them back to the shore.

 

On their way back to the city Henry was the only one not overcome by tiredness and the swaying of the coach. He smiled while he contemplated the three sleeping females: the capable dwarf, the spirited young woman and the beloved sister.

“Pick your treasure, Henry Winter,“ he said to himself.

 


	6. Chapter 6

To tackle the River Ankh Miss Winter had decided on a painstaking and time-consuming method of taking water samples every fifty yards or wherever a major pipe emerged. Starting from the Water Gate, she had been slowly and systematically working her way downriver for a few weeks now. She expected no significant finds in her current sample, which was from the pipe that came down from the palace and entered the river near the Brass Bridge. There would be nothing but organic waste, but for thoroughness sake she subjected it to all her routine tests, which covered every toxin she knew about. Five long lines of test tubes sat in wooden racks on her desk, fizzing or bubbling away gently as the various processes took their course.

 

Lord Vetinari entered after a brief knock and greeted her civilly. He walked slowly and awkwardly, as if his feet were too heavy for his legs. Miss Winter, however, did not notice, since she was busy wiping her hands on a cloth. The Patrician sank down on a chair.

“How are you progressing with your investigation? Will you be finished before that fatal epidemic strikes?”

“I hope so, my lord.” She smiled. “The main problem so far is sewage, though I anticipate a larger amount of industrial pollution further downriver. With regard to a possible disease, sewage will of course be the more pertinent issue.”

The Patrician looked thoughtful.

“Sewage, hmm. Hardly a surprise. There is not much that can be done about that, I would imagine.”

“There might be. In Rham Nitz they have developed a new system of sewage treatment that removes a lot of the waste from the water before releasing it into the river. Last time I was up there it was the big project that everybody talked about.  It has been in place for about two years now, and I believe that if it wasn’t for their efforts, things might look even worse for us down here.”

“So you think we should introduce a similar system? Well, I shall give that some thought. In the meantime, please satisfy my curiosity: What is your connection with Rham Nitz?”

“My sister lives there.”

“You seem to have an inexhaustible supply of siblings, Miss Winter,” he said with a smile.

“I am the fourth of six. Six that survived, that is.”

He made no answer, but looked at her enquiringly.

“Well, there is Robert; he is the eldest, married with three children. Then the twins, Conrad and Felix. Conrad has a farm near Sto Kerrig; he got married two years ago. He is keeping ostriches.”

“Ah. I have noticed that ostrich feathers are a bit of a fashion at the moment.”

“Apparently they are also very good for their meat, though I haven’t tried it. Are you quite well, my lord, you look very pale,” she interrupted herself.

“Thank you, I am just a bit dizzy. I haven’t had much sleep lately.”

“You should look after yourself better, my lord. Go and have a rest.”

“I have duties to the city, Miss Winter.”

“Exactly. One of them is to keep yourself in good shape.”

 

Vetinari rubbed his forehead with his thin hand.

“You concern flatters me, Miss Winter, but it is really nothing. Tell me about the other twin.”

Miss Winter did not need much encouragement to talk about her family.

“Felix, now, he is a bit of an adventurer. He is somewhere out in Smale or Ushistan at the moment, digging up old treasure. Father thinks it’s a disgrace that Felix is after the gold, rather than writing treatises about ancient cultures, but Felix says nobody would pay him for that. Anyway, next there’s me, then Cassandra. As I said, she lives in Rham Nitz now with her boyfriend; she’s a silversmith.”

“You do, I assume, approve of free relationships?”

“Not entirely.”

“Aha?”

“Well, I think quite often the woman is taken advantage of in one way or another. Usually it is the man who doesn’t want to commit.”

“And is that the case with your sister?”

“That is an indiscreet question, my lord. So, Cassandra, then dear Penny, and finally Henry, who is an assassin.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Yes, he is very... My lord!”

With beads of sweat on his forehead, the Patrician slowly leaned forwards and fell off the chair. In an instant Miss Winter kneeled beside him. His breath was faint and his hands icy cold. An iridescent greenish film had appeared on his lips. Miss Winter turned round and stared at her rows of test tubes. In one of the tubes, a green haze was clouding the glass.

“Oh, good gods,” she whispered.

 

\-----

 

 

The first thing the Patrician saw when he came to was a pair of dark green eyes peering at him anxiously. A firm, warm hand stroked across his cheek.

“Can you hear me, my lord?”

It was Miss Winter’s deep and mellow voice. Vetinari groaned.

“What happened there?”

“You fainted. I believe you are very ill. I have sent for a doctor. In the meantime it would help if you could drink this.”

Rather awkwardly, she helped him to raise his head and take some sips out of the glass she offered him. Within a few minutes, Mr Drumknott appeared at the door with another man.

“I have brought Doctor Lawn, my lord,” said the clerk.

The doctor knelt down on the floor next to Vetinari and looked at him gravely. Miss Winter held the greenish test tube before his eyes.

“Do you see this?” she demanded. “Gaspodium. In a water sample from the palace. His Lordship has got himself poisoned.”

“Well then,” said Dr Lawn, “Let’s make him sick to make him better.” He opened his bag and took out a small brown glass bottle, the contents of which he administered to the recumbent figure.

 

Miss Winter paced the room and tried not to listen to the sounds of the Patrician vomiting. Mr Drumknott appeared beside her.

“Don’t worry, Miss Winter,” he whispered, “He will be all right. This is nothing new to him. A few years ago somebody poisoned his candles with arsenic.”

“Believe me, Mr Drumknott, that is not quite the same.”

She looked at the test tube again, biting her lip. Thank gods it was only a tiny trace, with any luck it would not kill the people of Ankh-Morpork – this time. But where had it come from, and how did His Lordship come to ingest it?

 

Dr Lawn had turned to Mr Drumknott.

“Let’s get him into his room. Absolute bed rest and no disturbances. I will stay with him until we can be sure he is out of danger.”

Drumknott disappeared to summon the necessary assistance.

Miss Winter approached the Patrician tentatively.

“My lord, can you tell me...”

“His Lordship needs to rest, young lady,” interrupted Dr Lawn. “You can ask him questions another time.”

She scowled at him and waved the test tube in front of his face.

“This is Gaspodium we are talking about. I need to know where it came from.”

“No doubt you will find out in good time. But for the moment...”

“Dr Lawn, do you _know_ what Gaspodium is?”

“I don’t think that is...”

“ _Do_ you know?”

The physician threw up his hands impatiently.

“All right then, what _is_ Gaspodium?”

Miss Winter drew breath.

“Gaspodium, “ she began, “is among the most lethal known poisons on the Disc. If His Lordship had ingested any more than a trace amount, he would be dead now. And I found this poison in the palace waste water! It is essential that it should be neutralized immediately. Gaspodium is not a natural element; it only occurs as a by-product of a very arcane process that no alchemist in his right mind would carry out these days. Yet somebody has done it right here in the palace, and I cannot for the life of me imagine who.”

At this, Vetinari struggled to raise his head and said hoarsely:

“I’m afraid I can.”

 

\----

 

Leaning on Miss Winter and Mr Drumknott on either side, Lord Vetinari made his way along the dim corridors.

“A step to ....the left here, Drumknott. Touch... the wall, Miss Winter. No, a bit further up.”

They followed his instructions meticulously. With that and with the weight of the Patrician to support, their progress was painfully slow.

“Dr Lawn seemed a bit offended, my lord,” said Drumknott.

“Don’t know if I can...trust him, “ wheezed Vetinari. “Don’t...step on that tile.”

“Dr Lawn will keep quiet about this, my lord,” said Drumknott. “He is a highly reasonable man.”

“Ah! Unlike the one...we are about to visit.”

They trudged on. Miss Winter wondered how Vetinari could be so heavy, given how thin he was.

“Is he dangerous?” she asked.

“A man who absentmindedly... gives me a cup of... coffee laced with poison?”

“Well, is he aggressive?”

“Wouldn’t swat a..fly.”

 

At last they arrived by a door, which Drumknott unlocked with the key that Vetinari had handed him, and entered warily. Leonard of Quirm lay slumped over a chair, motionless. Drumknott rushed towards him with the bottle he had received from Dr Lawn. Miss Winter carefully placed the Patrician on a chair, then scanned the room until she found what she was looking for. In a corner near a sink stood an assortment of alchemical equipment, amongst which she quickly discerned a crucible with the offending substance. Frantically she examined the jars on the table. She needed calcium carbonate, surely the man would have a supply of it? Behind her, she could hear Leonard retching. The jars clinked in her hands as she was trying to read the labels. Why on the Disc was this madman writing backwards?

 

When she finally found the correct jar, she tipped half of it over the crucible, the other half into the sink. As an afterthought, she poured the contents of a water jug after it, then shook her head at the pointlessness of her action. From the corner of her eye she saw that Vetinari had risen from the chair and was walking over to Leonard.

 “Leonard, this time you have really...,” began Vetinari and gently collapsed on the floor.

 

 

\----

 

 

In the most austere room of the palace a letter was being scribbled by the light of a single candle burned down almost to a stump.

 

 **My dear Cassandra,**

 **something really frightful happened yesterday afternoon. Lord Vetinari was almost killed accidentally, and it was by sheer luck that I was able to prevent it. I feel very shaky now, because I had a bit of a shock, and it really is the most bizarre story you can imagine.**

 **As far as I can reconstruct, this is what happened: There is a man called Leonard of Quirm, he is quite a well-know figure among alchemists, but he hasn’t been seen for a while. Now it has turned out that Lord Vetinari is actually keeping him locked up in an attic in the palace for safety’s sake, though whose safety one has to wonder. This Mr da Quirm does not have his brain all together in one place. He has been sitting in that peculiar prison of his and has entertained himself by synthesizing Gaspodium, of which he succeeded in obtaining about three ounces. He seems to have then stirred the stuff with a spoon, which he used later to stir milk into cups of coffee for himself and His Lordship. He must have also tipped some of it into the sink, or maybe he made some fumbled attempt at rinsing the spoon. In any case, traces of Gaspodium got into the palace waste water, and by sheer coincidence I was taking samples that morning from the palace waste-pipe.**

 **His Lordship, after his cup of poisoned coffee, came to see me in my office while I was running the test on the water samples, and there he passed out. I noticed a green discharge on his lips, which is a sign of Gaspodium poisoning, and at the same time I saw that the Gaspodium test had come up positive. Believe me, my heart almost stopped. I ran out into the corridor and shouted for people to get a doctor, then I went back and dissolved some calcium carbonate – which neutralizes Gaspodium - in a glass of water. His Lordship regained consciousness and was able to drink my concoction, though how much good it did I will never know. Then the doctor arrived and took over. Unfortunately I had to harass His Lordship about the source of the Gaspodium, but he knew immediately where it had come from. He dismissed the doctor and asked Mr Drumknott and me to take him to Mr da Quirm’s room. I’m not going into details of how difficult that was, suffice to say that we reached the place and saved the wretched man’s life. I also found the Gaspodium and neutralized it. The whole effort had been too much for His Lordship, though, and he fainted again.**

 **As I am writing this, I am sitting at the desk in His Lordship’s bedroom. When Mr Drumknott and I finally managed to get him back into the inhabited part of the palace and summon some servants, he was so weak that I feared for his life again. His pulse picked up, though, when we put him into bed, where he has been sleeping peacefully ever since.**

 **The very odd thing is that everybody seemed to assume that I would nurse him. Mr Drumknott actually said: “No one so proper, so capable as Miss Winter,” which puzzled me slightly. I don’t know if that is because people think one scientist is much like another and therefore an alchemist is as good as a doctor, or if the nursing job falls by default to any woman who happens to be in the vicinity. However that might be, for some reason or other I failed to enlighten people about my lack of nursing skills, and so I have been anxiously hovering over His Lordship’s sleep all night long. It is now nearly morning, and I feel exhausted, but incredibly relieved that a catastrophe has been averted. I dare not think of the consequences of anything happening to His Lordship.**

 **Must see to the patient now. I will write again soon and let you know how everything is going. For now feel hugged by your**

 **Lina**

 

Angelina put down the pen, folded up her letter and tiptoed over to the Patrician’s bed.  Some colour had returned to his face. He breathed slowly and regularly. She knelt down beside him and leaned her cheek against his. When she felt him stir, she hastily raised her head. He opened his eyes.

“Oh, it is you. Good,” he murmured and closed his eyes.

After a while he opened them again.

“How is Leonard?”

“He survived, “ she replied. “He was sound asleep when we left him. I took all his chemicals away, just in case. We looked for all the symptoms as Dr Lawn had instructed us, and he seemed all right. I assume he will make a full recovery, as will you.”

“Will I? Good. What about the...Gaspodium?”

”I neutralized it.”

“You are a resourceful woman, Miss Winter.”

She smiled. The candle flame sank and died. Now the room was lit by the faint grey shimmer of dawn.

“I will go and get you something to eat,” she said and started to get up. His hand shot out and grasped her wrist.

“Stay here. Talk to me. I find your voice very ... soothing.”

She smiled again and, not quite knowing what to say, began to recite some poetry.

As Vetinari drifted back to sleep, images of ocean spray in his mind, he told himself that he wasn’t taking advantage of the situation in any way.


	7. Chapter 7

Spring came. Vetinari consolidated the still delicate relations with Borogravia and showed Miss Winter round the palace gardens, where she laughed heartily at the ornamental trout stream and was saved only by the Patrician’s swift intervention from falling into the hoho.

 

He carefully arranged the succession of a couple of guild leaders and discussed horticulture with Miss Winter in her office, precariously perched on a stool between ominous looking metal containers and stacks of scribbled on paper, while she pulled out book after book of pressed plants in an attempt to convince him that he should cultivate a selection of weeds as what she called a wildlife habitat.

 

He gave a reception to entertain a high profile Agatean delegation, and Mr Drumknott was surprised to find that Miss Winter was asked to attend, because to his mind her position did not warrant such a distinction. Then he remembered the Gaspodium affair and nodded to himself.

 

As he conducted the reception, Vetinari watched the local dignitaries, each with their hidden agendas, their intrigues, their self-interests which they were so tirelessly trying to advance. He felt fatigued. He had seen this so many times, steered the minds of these people, forged their combined petty motives into something useful. How tedious they were! His eyes scanned the room, which seemed blurred with a cloud of deceit, and he perceived in the midst of it a beacon of integrity. Talking with some of the guild representatives, Angelina Winter wore her very own face in this crowd of masked actors. Her manners were impeccable, and he knew that she would be discreet without being secretive, modest without being meek, assertive without being offensive. He felt a great comfort in her presence.

 

 

 **\----**

 **Dearest Cassandra,**

 **please forgive me for not answering your last letter sooner. I have been having a very busy time these last two weeks, both socially and at work. I have finished the water analysis and am moving on to air pollution now. Getting the samples is quite good fun, because there are almost always people around watching me, and they have priceless facial expressions when they see me waving a jar around and then screwing the lid on apparently nothing. It is not a very good method, though, and I’ll have to think of something better.  I really hope I won’t mess up anything. As I said before, it can be difficult when you have nobody else to rely on. If I asked nicely, I think His Lordship might even agree to give me an assistant, as you suggested, but that wouldn’t help much. In fact, then I would be responsible for that person, too! What would be a real relief to me is for somebody else to be in charge. Well, there isn’t, and maybe it is time for me to rise to the challenge. Wish me luck.**

 **Poor Henry is quite heartbroken about that girl Melisande, so I am spending a lot of time with him to stop him from moping. Also now that the weather has improved, Tvoolia and I are exploring the area most days after work. Goldy joins us sometimes when her shifts allow it, and we have also taken Henry a few times to cheer him up. Tvoolia suggested that; so kind and considerate of her! We have been to see a lot of the ancient monuments of Ankh-Morpork, so if you should ever decide to visit me, I can be a smug little tour guide for you.**

 **Goldy also took us to a party at her newspaper, which was good fun. She introduced me to a woman called Sacharissa Cripslock, who is one of the reporters. I liked her very much, she seemed pleasant and also clever in a roundabout kind of way, but I had this uncanny feeling that she might print everything I said (which she didn’t, though). She asked me if she could meet me some time and question me about my work, but I said I would have to ask Lord Vetinari first.**

 **Your plan for Mama’s birthday seems very good to me. Henry and I would love to come, but I’m not sure if that would be feasible, it is such a long journey and I am not sure that His Lordship would give me a couple of weeks off just now. Is Conrad going? Any word from Felix?**

 **Oh, I forgot to mention I have been to a very formal reception at the palace with all the guild leaders and nobles and some Agatean diplomats, gods know why I was supposed to be there. I found it rather intimidating, but did my best to remain calm, which was difficult, because His Lordship kept looking over to me as if he was checking on me. Maybe my attendance there was some kind of test, but for what purpose I cannot begin to imagine. Thank goodness Mr Drumknott had given me a few hints as to the formalities.**

 **Cassandra, I have been arguing with myself whether I should tell you this or not, because very likely the less said about it the better. But I really long to confide in somebody, and who else would I trust but you? Coming to think of it, you might find my revelation not very surprising. Dearest, the trouble is that I find His Lordship’s influence over me deeply disturbing. He is occupying my mind to an extraordinary extend, so much so that in almost everything I do, I imagine him watching me and wonder what he would think.  I see so much of him, there is always something or other to discuss, which the sensible part of me would rather not, but the less sensible part pounces on every opportunity to speak to him. Everything about him fascinates me, his eloquence, his intellect, his calm superiority. When he is not around, I invent conversations with him in my mind.  What I dream at night I’m not even going to mention. What am I to do, Cassandra? Nothing good can come out of this. If he knew anything about it he would consider it insolence that I dare think of him in that way. I am very carefully trying to appear calm, but it is hard. Please suggest a cure for your very confused**

 **Lina**

 

\----

 

 

Angelina walked briskly, buttoning up her coat, when at the bottom of the main stairs she almost collided with the Patrician. She jumped.

“Good evening, my lord,” she gasped.

“No need to take fright, Miss Winter. It is ten to five. I dare say you may go home. Are you in a hurry?”

“Not exactly, my lord. I was just finished for the day, and it was too late to start a new series of tests.”

“In that case I decree that as a chastisement for stealing ten minutes of the city’s time, you have to accompany me on my stroll in the gardens. You haven’t looked at the trout for a while.” He smiled at her broadly.

She wavered. If she had any sense, she would decline politely. Unfortunately, all sense deserted her in the face of that smile.

“What if I fall into the hoho?” she teased.

“Oh, the gardeners have a ladder. But to be on the safe side, let’s go nowhere near it. This way, please.”

 

He ushered her out into the palace grounds. The air was mild and the sounds of the city muffled by the trees and shrubs. They set off on a path among conifer hedges that skirted the building on the widdershins side. Angelina was waiting for Vetinari to open the conversation, but since he showed no inclination to do so, they remained silent. After crossing a bridge over a triangular pond, they descended a stair among a series of terraced flower beds and entered a small grove of hazelnut trees. There Vetinari stopped in front of a small slab of granite on the ground.

 

“This is where I have buried my little dog,” he said and placed a dog biscuit on the tiny grave. Then he stood back and looked down solemnly.

Angelina was silent. What was there to say? This did not seem the right moment to mention that she detested dogs.

“Have you ever had a pet, Miss Winter?”

“It is not something I am very enthusiastic about,” she ventured after a short, embarrassed pause.

“How strange,” replied Vetinari, “I had you down as a cat person.”

She shook her head.

“No. I believe...I believe it is best if people and animals go their separate ways, as much as possible.”

“That is an unusual point of view.”

“Is it?” She squirmed uneasily. “Well, apart from farm animals, which we do not exactly keep for their own benefit, I think the kindest thing we can do for animals is to leave them well alone.”

Vetinari bent down to remove some straggling weeds from the side of the little gravestone.

“What about those that depend on our care, Miss Winter? Wuffles would never have survived in the wild.”

 

Wuffles! Angelina was struggling to suppress a snort. Vetinari looked at her inquiringly. Clearly she was expected to give an answer.

“Isn’t that a sign then that something has gone wrong? That we have bred and manipulated a creature so much that it is no longer fit for survival in the natural world?”

Vetinari raised the eyebrow.

“How fit are you for survival in the natural world, Miss Winter?”

She hesitated.

“Not at all, my lord,“ she admitted. “But we...we create and constantly reproduce the world we inhabit. That is our plight and our privilege. I just don’t see why we should, beyond the necessary, give animals a place in our culture.”

“Animals have had a place in our culture since the dawn of time, Miss Winter. And one might say that dogs are particularly well adapted for living in a human environment.”

“So are head lice,” she said before she could stop herself.

“I am amazed to find such a lack of compassion for our fellow creatures in you.”

“One of my failings, no doubt, “ she murmured.

 

They turned away from the grave and continued along the path that led out of the hazelnut grove onto the lawn.

“Do you not think, Miss Winter, that a pet can be a great source of comfort and joy to people?”

“My lord...” She began to wish she had gone home after all.

“Answer the question, please.”

“Well, to some perhaps. I have always preferred the company of people.”

Vetinari gave her a sharp look.

“It would appear though, Miss Winter, that you have always been luckier than most people with regard to the human company available to you.”

She bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“For myself I have to say that Wuffles has been dearer to me than any person.”

Angelina bit her tongue to stop herself from saying how that reflected on him. She increased her pace.

“At least at the time,” he added quietly.

Having walked ahead in an attempt to escape from the conversation, she made no reply. The Patrician followed her.

“Do not go down that path, Miss Winter, it leads straight to the hoho.”

 

He caught up with her and steered her along a different path back towards the palace. Angelina inwardly kicked herself for the way she had screwed up the conversation.

“I am sorry, my lord, if you are displeased with my views,” she said miserably.

“Do not make yourself uneasy, dearest Miss Winter,” Vetinari appeased her. “Wherever your views are known they must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to less advantage for disagreeing with me. It is true that our opinions seldom coincide, and yet we usually enjoy exchanging them, do we not? As they say: If two people always agree, then one of them is superfluous. I am sure that is not a state of affairs that we would aim for.”

 

Angelina was relieved, but found it safest to say nothing. They had reached one of the entrances and she was eager to get away now.

“Will you stay for dinner?” asked the Patrician.

Startled as she was by this request, this time she remembered her intention to be sensible.

“No thank you, my lord, I am meeting my brother. Good night,” she said and hurried away.

 

As she strode down Filigree Street, she wondered why he would have asked her to stay for dinner, especially after such an awkward conversation. If it hadn’t been so presumptuous, she might have thought that recently His Lordship seemed rather partial to her. She almost allowed herself to believe what Cassandra had written: That matches of greater disparity had taken place. But that was a nonsense, of course. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by aspiring to the impossible.

 

 

 **\----**

 

When Angelina arrived back at her lodgings on a Monday evening, somewhat later than usual due to a meeting, she was greeted at the door by Goldy and Tvoolia. Her friends pulled her inside and dragged her excitedly into the boarders’ common room, where a large object lurked under a sheet.

“This has arrived for you this afternoon,” explained Goldy, “and we have been very good about it and haven’t peeped, but we are dying to know what it is. The men who brought it in wouldn’t tell me, they just said it was mightily heavy. Tvoolia has only been in for an hour, but I was on early shift and I’ve been sitting here all afternoon...”

Angelina stood on the threshold and dared not go closer, in case her flutter of hope was deceiving her.

“Come on, please, lift the sheet,” said Tvoolia.

 

Gingerly Angelina walked towards the hulking thing. She closed her eyes and pulled at the sheet. It didn’t have the decency to come off in one smooth movement, like it would have if she had been a proper romantic heroine. As it was, it resisted and she had to give it a good tug before it fell to the floor. Then she slowly opened her eyes.

 

The thing that now stood revealed in the room was a harp. Slightly smaller than her own harp, but beautifully crafted and perfectly tuned, as she found when she ran her fingers across the strings. Her friends stared in astonishment.

“Who sent you that?” whispered Tvoolia.

“Well, Henry of course,“ replied Angelina.

“But he has already given you a birthday present,” said Goldy.

 “I know. And really, he shouldn’t have. It must have cost more than he can afford. But it is just like him, he is so generous and impulsive. And he enjoys a good surprise. I bet he’ll even pretend to know nothing about it and make some kind of mystery of it.”

She sat down and began to play, hesitatingly for lack of practice. Mrs Scunners came out of her kitchen and stood by the door with her dishtowel in hand, listening.

“That can stay there, if you wish,“ she said gruffly after Angelina had finished. “So’s we can all hear it properly. You wouldn’t get it up the stairs anyway.”

 

When Henry came that evening for their musical meeting, greeted with more ardent smiles than usual from Goldy and Tvoolia, Angelina flung her arms around his neck and thanked him fervently for the wonderful instrument. Of course he denied having anything to do with it, but obviously she didn’t believe him.


	8. Chapter 8

On her way home from work, Tvoolia reflected on the event of the previous day. What a treasure Henry Winter was. Angelina could count herself happy to have such a thoughtful brother, instead of three useless sisters. Well, of course she had a thoughtful sister, too. And three other brothers. Tvoolia was trying not to feel too jealous of her friend. After all, she, Tvoolia, was lucky enough to have two such true friends as Angelina and Goldy.

 

The three gals, as Henry called them. There seemed to be something special about this sisterhood of three, something that called for the stuff of storybooks to happen to them. Or to one of them at least. Tvoolia wondered when, if ever, romance would come their way. It seemed not very likely at the moment. She knew that Goldy, who in dwarf terms was much the same age as Tvoolia, had her eye on one of her work colleagues, but apparently it was fiendishly difficult to advance things with another dwarf. One would have thought that being openly female would be of some help, but it seemed only to complicate matters. After all, the other dwarf could have traditional views...

 

Then there was Angelina, who seemed to be interested only in her work. No, Tvoolia corrected herself, Angelina took delight in many things, but gentlemen were conspicuously absent from her list of interests. Of course, she wasn’t exactly striking, and she was getting on a bit, but – Tvoolia hastily added, feeling slightly guilty to have such uncharitable thoughts about her friend – she had her charms, when you looked for them. Well, charms or not, somehow she had managed to reach thirty-five and yet avoid romance. Ah, not quite, Tvoolia remembered. Angelina had told her that she had been engaged once, but that it hadn’t worked out. Though Tvoolia had noted with dissatisfaction a complete lack of any sentiment in Angelina’s eyes and voice on that occasion. She could as well have spoken about a lost parcel.

 

And finally, herself, Tvoolia Hingh, easily the most attractive of the trio, as no amount of modesty would be able to deny. Tvoolia, with shiny hair and sparkling eyes, clothed in satin, waiting for romance... As she walked past the gates of the Assassins’ Guild, a deep sigh escaped her lips.

 

____

 

 

Sacharissa Cripslock bustled in and trilled:

“Oh, what a charming place! So…atmospheric.”

Angelina looked round at the assorted alchemist’s equipment that crowded the room.

“Well, if you think so,” she said. “Do come round here and sit down. Mr Drumknott has been so kind as to order some refreshments.”

 

Miss Cripslock sat down primly, with her notepad in hand and pencil poised.

“So, Miss Winter,” she began. “Just to break the ice, let us talk a bit about your first impressions of Ankh-Morpork. Oh, thank you, no milk please, two sugars. I believe you said to Miss Jorgensson that the first thing you noticed was the stench?”

Angelina passed the tea cup to Miss Cripslock.

“Well, yes, I could hardly help noticing it, could I? But really, Miss Cripslock, I don’t think you should quote me on things I privately said to Goldy.”

“But the city does stink, doesn’t it?”

Miss Cripslock’s pencil was hovering over her notebook.

“There’s no denying that Ankh-Morpork is in great need of pollution control,” said Angelina. “Though of course city air is always somewhat stifling; I know that from other places like Pseudopolis, Quirm, Rham Nitz or even Sto Kerrig.”

The pencil had begun to move now.

“But Ankh-Morpork is worse?”

“It is. In answer to your question I would say that Ankh-Morpork is breathtaking, both in the figurative and the literal sense.”

Miss Cripslock was writing eagerly.

“You had great success with your first assignment in your job. How did you manage to identify Hershebean rubber as the cause of the health problems?”

“Oh. Well…”

Angelina thought of the weeks of analysing samples, plotting results on the map and of countless visits to the Slaughterhouse District, of Constantin’s intervention, the Trouble Book and a bunch of oograah.

“I…ehm… there were really a lot of rather complicated things involved, Miss Cripslock. Let’s just say I had a suspicion that Troglodyne would be the culprit, and there are only so many sources of it. So once I started to look for it, it was fairly easy to narrow it down.”

The pencil flew across the paper now. Angelina took a sip of her tea.

“And you narrowed it down to the rubber manufacturers. Were they not furious?”

 

Carefully trying to smooth out her answers, Angelina navigated through several more questions, until Miss Cripslock closed her notebook with a snapping sound and gave her a winning smile.

“Thank you very much for your time, Miss Winter. The Times appreciates it.”

 

 

\----

 

 **My dear Lina,**

 **Mama and I were very pleased to receive your letter. You always give such vibrant accounts of your life in Ankh-Morpork that we feel very close to you when we read them. It must be such a stimulating experience for you to meet all these journalists and diplomats.  I am sure you have opportunities in Ankh-Morpork that Pseudopolis would not have afforded you.**

 **Here at home we are all very cheerful and comfortable. The children create such a lively bustle in the house that reminds us very much of the time when you were all little. Roxana sometimes worries that the noise would be too much for Mama and me, but of course there is no thought of that. We are very glad that they have come to live with us now. Given that all our other children are so far away, it is a blessing to have them here. Not that we’re complaining! It’s good to know that you are all making your way in the world. However, Robert is a great support for me, because sadly my strength is not what it used to be.**

 **I have found those notes that you were asking for, there were exactly where you said they would be. Mama has wrapped them up in a neat parcel, together with a little something for you. However, the postman that comes through the village only accepts letters, so the parcel will have to wait here for a few days. Robert has business in the city next week and will take it to the post office then. So you can expect it to arrive soon.**

 **After what you told us about this girl Melisande, Mama and I are rather anxious about Henry. You know how gloomy he can get at times, and of course, he never writes. Please keep an eye on him as much as you can.**

 **Everybody in the house sends greetings to you. We hope you keep enjoying yourself.**

 **Your loving**

 **Father**

 

\----

 

 

Angelina and Tvoolia were breakfasting in the boarders’ common room, while Mrs Scunners removed the cold leftovers of Goldy’s meal. The dwarf had already left for her early shift. After the landlady had bustled out, a comfortable silence settled on the room. Tvoolia was perusing The Times.

“Look, here’s your interview,” she said and handed the newspaper across the table.

Angelina read:

 

 **City Stinks Says** ****

**Health  Officer**

 

 **Ankh-Morpork is the smelliest city in the Sto Plains, Environmental Health Officer Angelina Winter (35) told The Times in an exclusive interview.**

 **The petite scientist, originally from Pseudopolis, is the first ever city official to tackle Ankh-Morpork’s escalating pollution problem. After her recent success in identifying the cause of the notorious “rubber pest” (The Times reported) , Miss Winter is currently working on a city-wide survey of environmental hazards that she hopes will be a turning point for public health. Miss Winter spoke to our reporter S.Cripslock.**

 **_Times:_ ** **_Miss Winter, what was your first impression of Ankh-Morpork?_ **

**Winter:** **The first thing I noticed was the stench. I know Pseudopolis, Quirm, Rham Nitz, Sto Kerrig. City air is always somewhat stifling, but what I encountered here literally took my breath away.  Ankh-Morpork is in dire need of pollution control.**

 **_Times:_ ** **_How did you manage to identify Hershebean rubber as the cause of the health problems?_ **

**Winter:** **There are only so many possible sources of Troglodyne. It was fairly easy to narrow it down, once I knew what I was looking for.**

 **_Times:_ ** **_Were the rubber manufacturers not furious about you?_ **

**Winter:** **They were not pleased, naturally, but they have been very decent about it and taken the recommendations on board. I believe the local people began to feel the benefits immediately, which is what matters most.**

 **_Times:_ ** **_Do you find your task challenging?_**

 **Winter:** **It is certainly a massive task, especially as I am solely responsible for it. What helps is the fact that Lord Vetinari is very supportive of my work.**

 **_Times:_ ** **_What is it like to work for Lord Vetinari?_ **

**Winter:** **His Lordship is very knowledgeable and highly professional. I would say there is excellent cooperation between us.**

 **_Times:_ ** **_Thank you for this interview._ **

****

**_Miss Winter was not available for comments on her personal relationship with the Patrician._ **

 

 

 

She dropped the paper in disbelief. “Our readers would be interested to know what Lord Vetinari is like on a personal level,” Miss Cripslock had said, to which Angelina had replied: “I don’t think I should comment on that.” That had seemed like a perfectly sensible answer at the time, but now the article made it look like... Oh, gods, she was in trouble.

“A rather sensationalist headline, don’t you think?” asked Tvoolia.

“That is not the worst of it. Have you read it yet?”

“No, let me see.” Tvoolia picked up the paper and scanned the page.

“Oh, good grief,” she exclaimed when she came to the end of the article.

“Do you think I can demand that they revoke that?” asked Angelina.

Tvoolia thought about this briefly.

“Don’t,” she replied. “Or do you want them to write: Miss Winter insists that her relationship with Lord Vetinari is purely professional?”

Angelina bit her fingers and groaned.

“Good heavens, Tvoolia, what am I going to do? I am going to lose my job. Calling his beloved city a stinking dump, too. His Lordship is a generous man, but there are limits. He must be absolutely livid about this. What am I going to say to him?”

”Well, the old favourite, ‘I can explain everything,’ does not seem like a promising option,” said Tvoolia. She looked out of the window as if she expected some inspiration from the people walking down the street.

“I don’t think there are any promising options whatsoever,“ moaned Angelina. “I’ll just have to take what is coming to me.”

She wondered whether this new affront would cancel out the wretched pet discussion or simply amplify it. Whichever it was, she could certainly not expect His Lordship ever to look favourably on her again. Tvoolia had to go and gave her a brief hug before she left. Angelina remained at the table, staring morosely at the terrible paragraph. She felt a strong inclination to go back to her room and hide under the covers.

 

Eventually she left for work with the grim determination not to lose her head about this disaster. Surely there were people worse off than her. Not many though. Well, inmates of the condemned cells, probably.

She sneaked into her office unnoticed and felt relieved to find it empty. Whatever chastisement was in store for her, it was not imminent. With fluttering nerves she set to work, expecting at any moment the dreaded summons to the Oblong Office. By eleven o’clock, no summons had arrived. By one o’clock she had still not seen a single person in the palace. She was just beginning to think that maybe by some miraculous chance the whole debacle had been overlooked, when she heard a knock on the door. A servant entered, handed her a sealed envelope and left.

 

Angelina stood in the middle of the room and turned the envelope over and over in her hands. Her heart was pounding. Eventually she decided that delaying the inevitable was not going to help her, and she opened the envelope. She skimmed over the message, frowned in confusion, read it again and then gave an incredulous laugh. Vetinari had written:

 

 **Miss Winter,**

 **Since I anticipate a certain degree of unease on your side, I will spare you the embarrassment of meeting me today. Let me assure you that one of the skills my position requires is the ability to reconstruct a concrete conversation from a written account. Furthermore I am familiar with Miss Cripslock’s style. In other words, I have a reasonably clear idea of what you might have actually said to her. Do not worry needlessly about any apparent misrepresentations. In my experience the best method of dealing with the press is not to respond. I expect you to perform your duties as usual.**

 **H.V.**

 

The letter in her hand, Angelina sat down and laughed. As she folded up the paper and tucked it into her pocket, she made silent apologies to the Patrician for underestimating his astuteness and tact.


	9. Chapter 9

During a rainy lunch break, Angelina sat on a stool in her office and scanned through a newspaper. Suddenly she cried out in distress and darted from her seat, but when she reached the door it was opened, and Lord Vetinari appeared. Her pale face and impetuous manner made him start, and before he could recover himself enough to speak, she hastily exclaimed, "I beg your pardon, but I must leave you. I must send a clacks home immediately.”

"Good Gods, what is the matter?" cried he, with more feeling than politeness; then recollecting himself, he added: “I will not delay you a minute, but do write your message here and I will get one of the servants to send it.”

Gratefully she sank down on a chair and scribbled a few sentences on a sheet of paper, which Vetinari took out of her hands and entrusted to the first servant he could summon in the corridor. Then he turned back to Angelina, who sat where he had left her, looking miserable.

 

“What has happened, Miss Winter? Is anybody in your family unwell?”

“No, my lord. It is just what I read in the paper there. The mail coach from Pseudopolis has been robbed.”

He shrugged.

“As far as I am aware, all passengers survived unharmed.”

“Yes, but the paper says that the entire mail has been lost.”

Vetinari looked bemused.

“I did not think that you depended quite so much on your letters from home, Miss Winter.”

Angelina flashed him a reproachful look.

“I am expecting a parcel from my father, with notes that I urgently need for the investigation. They are notes that I took long ago in our library and they are quite special, quite irreplaceable.”

"I am grieved, indeed," said Vetinari with an almost imperceptible smile. "But is it certain - absolutely certain?"

She shook her head.

“No, that is why I had to send the clacks. I need to know which day my brother posted the parcel.”

“If it turns out that your papers were indeed on that particular coach, could you not ask your father to send you the relevant books? The city will pay for the postage, of course.”

Angelina bit her lip.

“Unfortunately not, my lord. These books are no longer...available. It’s hard to explain.”

“Well, then I suggest that you try the university library. Even if they do not have the exact same books you want, they will have something similar. The librarian has a reputation for being able to locate the most obscure books.”

 

At the mentioning of the librarian, a fleeting idea clamoured for attention at the back of Angelina’s mind, but before she could focus on it, it was gone.

“Do the wizards let outsiders use the library? Especially women?”

Vetinari smiled broadly.

“Oh, yes, there have been precedents. You will find that the wizards are by and large a gallant set of men. But I don’t think you should rely on that. I shall write you a note.”

He sat down beside her and pulled a sheet of paper towards him, which he quickly covered in his vigorous, even script and handed to her with a slight bow.

“There you go, Miss Winter. That should serve you as an entry ticket to our esteemed temple of erudition.”

 

Vetinari’s note proved a moderate consolation to Angelina when, on her return home, she found a clacks message from her father confirming her fears that her precious papers had indeed been travelling on the doomed coach.

 

\----

 

 **Dear Lina,**

 **I have some excellent news! We have made so much profit this quarter that we will at last be able to buy the shop, which Mr Doubletwite is kindly offering us at a very favourable price. Joaquin is completely thrilled and talks and thinks about nothing else (which leaves most of the work to me, as usual...) I am very happy, because this has been our darling project for such a long time now. I also hope that once we are truly settled in our business, other things might fall into place, too. You know what I mean...**

 **I am wondering what counsel to give you at this time, Lina. From all that you are telling me, I really get the distinct feeling that your preference for His Lordship is not entirely one-sided. However, this is just a vague impression, so it is difficult to base any concrete advice on it. But consider: If he is indeed beginning to be attached to you, then it is crucial that you should give him some affirmative signals. I believe, for example, you would have done better to accept his dinner invitation a few weeks ago. It appeared to me to be an attempt on his side to give a more positive turn to an encounter that had until then been rather unsatisfactory for both of you.**

 **I know that you are very concerned not to show any affection which he might deem inappropriate, but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded. There are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a woman had better show _more_ affection than she feels. Admittedly, yours might well be the tenth case, but still a certain degree of encouragement can’t come amiss. Besides, even if I am mistaken in my assessment after all, then I imagine His Lordship to be the kind of person who would handle the situation very tactfully, so I don’t think you have much to lose. **

**Furthermore, I am aware that you are particularly conscious about the disparity of status that exists between you, but has it occurred to you that he might have his very own doubts about his suitability, simply because he is so much older than you? It is quite possible that solely on the basis of that age gap he will not dare address you unless he receives some clear signs of approval from you.**

 **Lina, I cannot honestly tell you that you should act as I indicate, because it is all just based on my conjectures from the accounts you have given me. But please keep in mind that men are human, too, even if they are Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. They are plagued by the same doubts and worries that we suffer. You cannot expect him to take all the risks while you play it safe.**

 **I sincerely hope that I am being of help to you, and not confusing you further. You are really the only person who can assess the situation properly. I will send you all my best wishes for your powers of discernment!**

 **Lots of love**

 **Cassandra**

 

Angelina put the letter aside with a sigh. Endearing as it was, Cassandra’s perpetual optimism depressed her. If only her sister could understand just how hopeless her case was. As for exposing herself by giving Vetinari “affirmative signals”, she’d rather cut off her toes...

\-----

 

 

To a small woman, the gates of Unseen University loom even more magnificently than to the average citizen. However, Angelina had some experience in braving the fences of educational establishments, and this time she had come armed with Lord Vetinari’s letter. The porter had, in fact, presented very little difficulty. He had simply grunted at her and waved her into the general direction of the impressive looking buildings, but now she was lost. She dithered, turning her head this way and that.

 

“Can I help you, Miss?” asked a voice next to her.

“Oh,” she said and smiled at the young man in wizard’s attire. “Yes, I believe you probably can. I am looking for the library.”

“It’s that big domed building over there,” replied the young wizard, “though you have come the wrong way for the entrance. I’ll show you the way round, just follow me.”

“Thank you, that is very kind.”

They set off around the corner of the High Energy Magic Building.

“You haven’t come to study here, have you?” he inquired.

“Study wizardry? Good gods, no. I finished studying years ago. I am a scientist. I need to find some...rare books.”

“You’ve come to the right place then, no doubt. There aren’t many books that can’t be found in our library. By the way, my name is Adrian Turnipseed.”

“Pleased to meet you, I am Angelina Winter. I work at the palace.”

“Under the piercing eyes of Vetinari? You’re a brave woman.”

She laughed. “People keep saying things like that. Actually, I have had very little need for bravery in my dealings with His Lordship.”

“I suppose one boss is much like another. You should hear Archchancellor Ridcully sometimes. Right, here we are. We’ll go up this staircase, and there you can see the entrance on your right.”

 

He escorted her to the door and took his leave politely. With eyes wide open, she ventured into the ominous twilight. The first thing she discerned clearly was the large orang-utan sitting on the reception desk. It was just as well she had been expecting this.

 

“Ook?”

The Librarian clambered down from his seat and approached her nimbly.

“Good afternoon. Err...I’ve been told that you might appreciate it if I brought you a banana.”

She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a fruit. The librarian took it and put it on the desk.

“Ook?”

 “I have come here because I am looking for some books. Well, yes, obviously. The thing is, I can’t exactly tell you what books I need. I hope you will have something similar to the books that I used to have at home, though of course not the same, since they... Actually, it’s all rather complicated. I don’t quite understand it myself.”

 

“Ook!”

The Librarian winked at her and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder. As recognition hit her, Angelina’s eyes widened.

“My goodness,” she whispered. “That wasn’t a dream? Was it _you_ that led me home one day when I had got lost...in that other place?”

“Ook! Ook!”

“But how...? I mean... That was decades ago!”

The Librarian shook his head and scratched his ear thoughtfully. Then he held up the five fingers of his left hand and two of the right.

“Seven years? No, much longer, more than twenty.”

The Librarian shook his head again. He picked up a calendar from his desk and flipped back seven pages.

“You mean seven _months_? How can it be seven - ? I see. Time works differently in that place?”

“Ook.”

“And you _recognize_ me?”

“Ook.”

He pointed to the scars on her chin.

“How very remarkable,” murmured Angelina. “So you can still go there? I could never find my way there anymore in later years.”

The Librarian held out his palm at shoulder height, then raised it to indicate the difference between Angelina then and now.

“You mean it is because I grew up?”

“Ook.”

“But _you_ know the way? Could you...could you get me the _same_ books? Could you... could you...”

She was so excited that words failed her. The Librarian put his fingers to his lips, then he slipped his leathery hand into hers and led her away among the shelves.

 

It was the single most awesome experience of Angelina’s life. All around her, books were hissing and muttering and pulling at their chains. Rooms bent around them in impossible ways. Sometimes the floor seemed to become the ceiling and they saw contorted images of themselves walking along. Sometimes the shelves appeared to be receding into the distance, and yet she could touch them with her outstretched hand. At times it was freezing cold, but she was sweating and her face glowed. She clung to the Librarian’s hand and tried not to imagine what would happen if she let go.

 

Later, much later they returned and dropped a pile of books on one of the reading tables in the tamer part of the library. Angelina collapsed on a chair, white as chalk and trembling. The Librarian gave her a reassuring nod and disappeared. A few minutes later, Adrian Turnipseed was standing beside her.

“Miss Winter? Would you like to have a cup of tea in the lounge? I’m afraid food and drink are not permitted in the library.”

“Cup of tea would be lovely,” said Angelina weakly. “I don’t suppose you have any figgins?”

 

\----

It was May now and the city flowered as best it could. One day when the Patrician was taking his walk in the palace gardens, he discerned at the far end of the lawn the figure of Angelina Winter sitting on a bench under an ornamental cherry tree. He abandoned his usual path and approached her. On coming closer he saw that she held a sandwich in one hand, an open book in the other, and was eating and reading quite oblivious to the white petals that had fallen on her hair and her dark green woollen dress. One pert little petal that landed on the page of the book was swiftly brushed away. As the last piece of sandwich disappeared, the Patrician’s shadow fell on her, and she looked up.

 

“Lunch break, Miss Winter? No figgins today, I notice. May I join you?”

She was still chewing and bashfully covered her mouth with her hand.

“Ah, I see I have caught you at a disadvantage. Since you cannot object presently, I will sit down. What are you reading?”

She swallowed hastily and closed her book.

“Bocciani’s _Fragmenti._ The librarian at the university was so kind as to find it for me.”

Vetinari sat with his hands resting on the top of his cane, taking in the prospect, such as it was.

“Correct me if I am wrong, Miss Winter, but hasn’t Bocciani published eleven volumes of exquisite and highly polished verse?”

“I am not in a position to correct you on that, my lord, but I do know that Bocciani was a very productive poet and indeed revised all his poems very carefully.”

“And yet you are reading his unfinished works?”

She shrugged.

“Truth be told, I like them better. They have a certain freshness that his completed poems lack. To my mind, his eleven volumes of mannerism are easily outdone by this slim volume of fragments. Listen to this.”

Flicking through the book with nimble fingers, she found her page and began to recite.

Vetinari listened, but shook his head.

“It is a remarkable passage, but in its lack of formality not worthy of Bocciani.”

“Maybe it shows a facet of Bocciani that he suppressed in his finished poems.”

“The ‘soaring seagull’ spoils the rhythm of that third line.”

“One might say that the soaring seagull represents the desires of a free-moving spirit that Bocciani later spoilt with his strictness of form.”

Vetinari considered this.

“Strictness of form is the very essence of poetry, I have always believed.”

“Maybe that is a cultural bias?”

“Does it not strike you as unfair towards a defenceless dead man that people should read what he had not deemed fit for publishing?” he said.

“Does it not strike you as a waste and a disrespect to the memory of such a great poet that any of his efforts should be forgotten?” she replied.

 

He laughed.

“Ah, Miss Winter, is this to be another one of our little contests to see who can change the other one’s mind? If so, I rather think you win this time.”

Now she laughed.

“You’re just saying that to be nice. _I_ change _your_ mind? That’s about as likely as finding a speckled Salsalite.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, just alchemist’s jargon for very unlikely.”

“Why?”

“You have your mind made up on just about everything, as far as I can tell.”

“I meant to inquire about the expression. I have a vague notion that a Salsalite is a kind of gem.”

“Yes.  A Salsalite is a rare semiprecious stone of a dark green hue, sometimes found in chalk deposits. Speckled ones are even rarer. When I was a young girl, I used to go to the local chalk pit sometimes in the hope of finding one with grey speckles to match my eye colour. Needless to say I didn’t find one.”

“I have never heard of the speckled varieties. They must be worth a king’s ransom.”

“Oh, no, they are not impressive-looking enough for that. I suppose people with lots of money tend to prefer the sparkly stuff, and they probably don’t want something that sounds like a low calorie condiment. In fact Salsalite is hardly ever made into jewellery anymore, because the effort of working it is not matched by the price people are willing to pay for it. It has a brittle texture that makes it very hard to achieve a smooth finish, and it needs at least eleven layers of rose oil polish applied over the course of several weeks, my sister Cassandra says. There was a fashion for Salsalite pendants some three-hundred years ago, when they were thought to enhance the complexion, but nowadays people think they would be wasting their money on something that looks very much like a pretty pebble on the beach.”

“But the antique pendants would still be around, I assume?”

“Mostly they have been snatched up by alchemists. Salsalite is a useful catalyst in several processes, and every major alchemist’s workshop would keep a couple.”

“Ah, so I probably remember one from school.”

“Quite likely. I’ve seen them often, though never a speckled one.” She sighed. “It’s sad to have them used up in such a mundane manner.”

 

Vetinari smiled.

“I would imagine, Miss Winter, that you are part of a very small minority of people who feel a sentimental attachment to pretty pebbles.”

“Don’t mock me!”

“Would I dare?”

“Well, my lord, you are a grand man of a very elevated position. Do you think it is contemptible to see beauty in the less spectacular things of this world?”

He rubbed his chin.

“Contemptible, no. Unusual though, you must admit. You have a decided talent in that field. I wouldn’t put it past you to have even a passion for dead leaves. From what I can tell, you delight in pebbles, weeds, unfinished poems and..” He broke off.

Angelina eyed him quizzically, then looked away. Her hand was stroking the book on her lap.

“ ‘...and cripples’, you were going to say, weren’t you?” she asked.

Vetinari turned towards her quickly and put his hand on her arm.

“Now, Miss Winter, please...”

She stood up, shedding petals, and held the book in front of her chest with her wrists crossed.

“Oh, don’t worry, I am not going to make a scene again. I think you are right. Maybe it was Penelope who taught me to appreciate what is insignificant or less than perfect. If that is so, then she has given me no mean legacy.”

The Patrician made no answer, but looked thoughtful. Angelina lifted her head.

“And do you, in turn, despise what is grand and elevated?” he asked quietly.

Then he noticed Miss Winter had turned towards the palace.

“Where are you going?”

“Did you not hear the bells? Lunchtime is over. Good-bye, my lord.”

She set off across the lawn, while he remained sitting on the bench idly rubbing cherry petals between his fingers.

 

 **\----**

For more than a week Angelina went to the university every evening and became increasingly exited as her studies progressed. Page after page was filled with meticulous notes while the pile of books to her left shrank and the one to her right grew. She was almost grateful that her old notes had been lost, since the adult scientist was far better qualified to make sense of these records than the schoolgirl had been. Then late one evening she closed the last of the books and leaned back stretching her arms. With ink-stained fingers she carefully inserted her notes into a folder and walked over to where the librarian was dozing.

“I am finished,” she whispered. “You have been very helpful.”

She kissed him quickly on the forehead and was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day Angelina had barely settled to work, when Vetinari walked in.

“How are you progressing?” he inquired after their brief greeting.

“Quite well, my lord. I have found out what I needed in the university library.”

“What about the air sample analysis?”

“ I have so far identified seventeen airborne toxic substances. Most of them are directly connected with some industry or other and their origins are fairly straightforward to trace.”

“Seventeen Hershebean rubber scenarios?”

“I’m afraid not,” she replied. “Most of these substances are intrinsic to the processes that produce them. The choice of raw materials would make no difference.”

 

Vetinari looked over her shoulder at the list she had pulled out on her desk.

“I have a very bad feeling that you are going to suggest closing down these factories altogether, Miss Winter. Let me tell you straight away that this is not an option.”

“There might be an alternative, my lord. I have read up on something. If I can identify exactly which toxins are emitted where, then it might be possible to insert suitable filters into the respective exhausts. Each type of filter would have to be specific to the substance it is targeting, and you would have to involve alchemists on a grander scale in order to produce them. But it should be feasible. Emission filters have been used with good effect elsewhere.”

“Where?”

 

Angelina cringed. She rose from her seat, walked over to the window and looked outside.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, my lord. I could give you names of places, but they would mean nothing to you, just like they mean nothing to me. They are not normal places. I _think_ they are places ... elsewhere.”

The Patrician sat down on the seat that Angelina had vacated and folded his hands on the tip of his cane.

“You have lost me there, Miss Winter. Pray, tell me very slowly what you mean.”

 

She told him. Vetinari shook his head.

“My dearest Miss Winter, it beggars belief what you have got yourself involved in. Creatures from the dungeon dimensions will be queuing by the city gates. They are probably there already. And you are telling me the librarian _took_ you there?”

“He did. He seemed to think it was safe enough, probably because he knew I had been there before. But I can promise you that I will not go there again. It was too creepy.” She shuddered. “However, I do believe creatures from the dungeon dimensions or whatever you call them will not be a problem. This ... world, as far as I can tell, functions entirely without magic.”

Vetinari raised both eyebrows in surprise.

“Is that so? How very interesting. What holds it together?”

“I do not know. There is something called electricity, though that seems to be a form of fuel. It is all very confusing as far as the general structure of the place is concerned. But the accounts of the filters were very precise and clear. I think the principle is sound.”

“How would they work?”

“By inserting a layer of catalysts into the chimney. As the emissions travel through the filter, the targeted substance reacts with the catalyst and is retained there. Once the filter is worn out it can be disposed of safely, probably by burying.”

“Of course. That does make sense.”

“I think we should try this on a small scale and see what results we get. A very small trial run couldn’t do any harm, do you think?” she pleaded.

 

Vetinari stroked his beard and sighed heavily.

“Try it then. On a very small scale, here in this room. If it works, we’ll see what we can do on the full scale.”

“Thank you, my lord. I am sure that is the right decision.”

“Well, as long as you are careful.”

“I will be, my lord. You know I always am. Oh, and one more thing.  I believe they will be very expensive.”

Vetinari sighed again.

 “I thought there might be a catch. Have you considered how the manufacturers will react to this?”

“No. That’s not my concern.”

“Aha. It is for me to deal with?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I feel, Miss Winter, that this is becoming a very convenient excuse for you. I wish you would begin to see things a bit more in context.”

Angelina shrugged.

“Enlighten me. What is the context?”

“Well, how exactly do you expect me to deal with it?”

“I thought you would just make it a law and that would be it. You’re the tyrant, aren’t you?”

 

A brief smile flickered across the Patrician’s face.

  

  1. “I hesitate to remind you of this incident, my dear Miss Winter, but I have a lively memory of how you reacted on the single occasion when you thought the tyrant was not paying heed to your recommendations. What makes you think that others in the city will not deem their interests similarly important?”   
  



Angelina shrugged awkwardly.

“I dare say my so-called interest were a lot less selfish.”

Vetinari shook his head.

“We are talking politics here, Miss Winter, not morality. It just so happens that the manufacturers are in a position of considerable influence in the guild council, not to mention the fact that they produce a large proportion of the city’s wealth and pay the taxes from which you draw your salary.”

“You mean to say they have the common good in mind?”

“Oh no. They have their personal gain in mind, just like you imply. The common good is a handy by-product. And that is the beauty of the entrepreneurial spirit. In politics, dearest Miss Winter, what matters is not intentions but results.”

“Oh, that goes for just about anything. But I am afraid I have no head for politics. It’s too complex for me.”

“Don’t you enjoy complexity?” he demanded.

“Not this kind. The complexity of a well-written fugue, yes. The intricate patterns of veins on a leaf, yes.  But I cannot cope with intrigue and ambiguity. Politics always appears to me like a game of Thud!, where you have to think ahead and try to discover what devious plans your opponent has. I am not good at understanding people’s hidden motives and predicting their guile, my lord. I tend to think well of everybody and depend on them being open with me.”

 

Vetinari looked thoughtful.

“Do you realize that makes you extremely vulnerable?”

“Probably. But I have been lucky in that I have always been surrounded by people I could trust.”

He walked over to where she stood by the window.

“And do you trust me?”

“Of course, my lord,” she said simply.

“What rational reason do you have to trust me?”

She smiled.

“Rationality doesn’t come into it much, my lord. The key is intuition. And experience, of course. You have yet to let me down.”

He looked at her earnestly and she returned his gaze.

“I hope I never will,” he said eventually.

She looked away and picked up some tongs and beakers that were lying on the windowsill.

“Get me those filters then,” she replied and walked across the room to put the equipment into the cupboard.

“Very well,” said Vetinari levelly. “Good day, Miss Winter.”

 

 

 

\-----

One afternoon not much later, when Lord Vetinari was in the Oblong Office writing instructions to his ambassador in Bonk while Drumknott was sorting through stacks of paperwork for filing, the Patrician asked suddenly:

“Have you ever thought about marrying, Drumknott?”

The younger man looked up.

“Well, yes, my lord. Before I got married.”

Vetinari’s eyebrows rose briefly, then he carried on with his task. After a while he began again:

“I do not want to appear unduly inquisitive, Drumknott, but the question somehow arises why you did not mention your marriage to me.”

“Keeping you informed about my current marital status is not part of my contractual duties,” said Drumknott, while he calmly went on with his work. “I did check, my lord.”

Vetinari looked as if he was going to reply to this, but then thought better of it. After another pause, he asked:

“How long have you been married?”

“Just over a year, my lord. You might remember that I took a week’s leave last April.”

“So you did, Drumknott. Quite a low-key wedding, was it?”

“Not exactly so, my lord. We had a rather big party at my wife’s home village near Sto Lat.”

“Oh, did you.”

The two men continued with their respective work, and for another while nothing was heard in the room but the shuffling of paper and the scratching of the quill.

“And are you satisfied with your marital status, Drumknott?” asked the Patrician at last.

“Very much so, my lord,” replied the clerk.

“Would you recommend marriage to me?”

 

Drumknott stopped in mid-shuffle. He screwed up his face in an effort to think of a suitable reply.

“It would cause comment, my lord,” he said eventually.

“Yes, I believe it would,” said Vetinari gloomily. Another pause ensued.

“The tone of the comments would of course,” Drumknott went on, “depend to a certain degree on the nature of the...candidate.”

“Hmm.”

“No doubt you are aware, my lord, that last summer there were substantial rumours circulating in the city that connected you with Dame Gina Dulci.”

“Hmm. Substantial, were they?”

“However...,” Drumknott began carefully.

Vetinari looked up.

“Well? However what, Drumknott?”

“However, personally I wouldn’t be surprised if your choice fell on somebody much...smaller and ...err...closer to home.”

He looked down on his stack of papers. Vetinari followed his glance and discerned the words “Emissions analysis, Dolly Sisters and Upper Broadway area” on the uppermost file. A smile briefly appeared on his face.

“Drumknott, you are, as usual, commendably astute.”

“Thank you, my lord. I have been observing the development for a while. If I may be so bold as to say that I would consider it a very suitable connection. Not that my opinion is relevant, of course.”

“Oh, but it is! If I did not value your judgement, I would not have asked. Nevertheless, it may never come to anything. There is the age difference. And in spite of my marked attentions, there don’t seem to be signs of a particular...preference on the lady’s side. Her look and manners are open, cheerful, and engaging, but without any symptom of peculiar regard. I have come to the conviction that, however amiable her temper, her heart is not likely to be easily touched. It would not do to importune her.”

With this the Patrician returned to his writing. Drumknott picked up the papers and made for the door, when he suddenly realised that he was in a unique position of superior experience. He turned around briefly and whispered:

“Courage, my lord!”

 

\----

 

 

When the Patrician entered her room, he found Angelina busy with charts and calculations. Beads on an abacus clicked gently.

 

“Good morning, my lord. I’m in the last lap. The investigation should be completed by Wednesday.”

“Excellent. That happens to coincide with the day I want you to present it to a little meeting I am arranging. I was suitably impressed with your trial run the other day. If you manage to convince the meeting, you will get your filters. There might even be tea and figgins afterwards.”

She laughed.

“You certainly know my weaknesses, my lord.”

“Do I?” he said, smiling.

“Well, not all of them, maybe,” she replied, pushing her papers aside. “Come and see what I’ve found.”

 

She led the way to a large box in the corner of the room. Vetinari followed her and peered inside cautiously. Nestled into a pile of newspaper scraps, a hedgehog was sleeping.

“Isn’t it marvellous?” she asked, beaming at him. He looked at the animal without any particular expression.

“As far as I can tell, it is a common hedgehog. Folklore has it that the hedgehog cannot be ... specifically inconvenienced, but apart from that I do not see what is so extraordinary about it.”

“Well, how many hedgehogs have you seen in Ankh-Morpork until now?”

Vetinari stroked his beard between his index finger and thumb.

“You know, Miss Winter, I don’t think I’ve seen any. Are you going to tell me now that this is significant?”

“Indeed. When I did my baseline investigation in Offle, I found no evidence of any wild mammals in the city apart from rats, mice and feral cats and dogs. But in the last three weeks I have seen two hedgehogs, and a couple more have been reported to me. I found this one in the Street of Small Gods, near the cemetery, curled up in the middle of the road. It was almost run over by a cart, so I took it with me to keep it safe. I’ll soon find a suitable place to let it go again, but I wanted you to see it first. It really looks like hedgehogs are coming back into the city, after what seems an amazingly short period of environmental improvements. But of course these little fellows can cover a lot of ground in a short time. I also saw a grass frog in Hide Park the other day. I regard that as an indicator that our efforts are beginning to have an effect.”

“Good grief, Miss Winter, it’ll be fish in the river next! You promised that clearing up pollution would improve the productivity of the workforce and avert a lethal epidemic – you did not mention an invasion by wildlife.”

“Now, don’t pretend to be dumb, my lord. You know as well as I do that all these things are interconnected.”

“If you say so.”

 

The Patrician abandoned the box and began to wander around the room. Angelina lingered in the corner, looking at the spiky little animal with an expression of smug satisfaction.

 

“May I ask you, Miss Winter, what your plans for the future are?” he asked abruptly.

She turned towards him, looking uneasy, but his voice had sounded benign.

“I believe I have adopted your lordship’s theory about what people really want,” she replied.

“For things to stay as they are? Is that all that you aspire to?”

“I am trying to be realistic.”

 

Angelina could see that he was not pleased with her answer, but could not work out what he wanted to hear. Vetinari was still moving around the room, randomly picking up objects and setting them down again. She wondered if he had some reason to be angry with her. Had it been a clumsy move to show off the hedgehog?

 

“Miss Winter, I am not only referring to your professional ambitions. I am asking about your plans in general, about...”

He hesitated. His eyes were scanning the room as if to find a cue.

“...what you are hoping to  – what on the Disc is this?” he interrupted himself.

 

He picked up an arrangement of small hourglasses in different sizes, mounted on a wooden frame in such a way that they could be individually turned.

“Oh, that”, she said, grateful for the diversion. “That is my precision timer. I use it for certain procedures. My brother Felix made it for me some years ago. The smallest glass is a three second interval.”

Vetinari looked incredulous.

“You call _that_ a precision timer? Why don’t you use a watch?”

“I detest imps.”

“I hear there are good mechanical watches available in the Street of Cunning Artificers.”

“Either too expensive or too unreliable. And anyway, Felix made this specially…”

 

Vetinari rummaged around in his robes.

“Take this,” he said and dropped something into her hand. It was a pocket watch. She looked at it carefully.

“It is very beautiful,” she ventured eventually. “But it doesn’t look like a mechanical watch.”

“I had the imp replaced a while ago with a clockwork mechanism by a very ... remarkable clockmaker. It is particularly accurate. You see, I wanted to upgrade rather than replace it, since it has some sentimental value for me. It belonged to my mother. I would like you to have it.”

“Oh, I cannot take it,” she said hurriedly and tried to hand it back to him. He quickly took her hand in both of his and closed her fingers over the watch.

“My lord, I cannot possibly...”

“Keep it. That is an order. An official measure to improve safety standards in this room.”

His hands were still wrapped around hers and their eyes met briefly. Then she looked away and blushed. He released her and walked towards the door.

“Wednesday at eleven o’clock, Miss Winter,” he said over his shoulder. “I expect a high standard of precision in your statement. The fate of the filters depends on it”

 

 

\----

 

 

When Angelina walked home that evening, her hand was securely locked around the treasure in her coat pocket. She could scarcely believe that he should have given her such a gift, that he had pressed her, yes, literally pressed her to accept it. She had never before heard him admit to having any relatives whatsoever. And now he had given her his own keepsake from his mother. _Miss Winter, I am not only referring to your professional ambitions. I am asking about your plans in general, about what you are hoping to..._ Suddenly his strange behaviour made sense. It was breathtaking.

 

At home she wolfed down her dinner under the suspicious eye of her landlady. She excused herself from the customary chat with Tvoolia and Goldy and rushed up to her room, where she played flute improvisations until Mrs Scunners knocked on the ceiling with a broom handle. With a rueful look towards the candle she decided that it was too late at night to write to Cassandra. She slept with the watch under her pillow. In the morning she attached it to the chain on which she had previously worn her grandmother’s pendant. He would see it and understand that she approved. No other encouragement should be necessary. She was waiting for his next move.

 

 

\----

 

 

Throughout the next day Angelina was busy preparing her presentation. Vetinari had left in his carriage early in the morning and had not returned by the time she went home. On Wednesday morning she gathered her papers and rehearsed her part in her mind. She drank a cup of camomile tea to calm her nerves. It was so important that she should be professional. Nothing could be worse than appearing in front of the meeting like a giggling teenager. She carefully removed the smile from her face and set off to the Rats Chamber. While she ascended the staircase it suddenly occurred to her that the guild leaders might recognize the watch as being Vetinari’s. Quickly she dropped it into her dress so as not to compromise him.

 

When she arrived at the Rats Chamber, the room was already half full. She took her usual seat next to Vetinari.

“Good morning, my lord. Good morning, Mr Drumknott,” she said and leaned forward to greet the clerk, who was sitting on the Patrician’s other side. She was pleased with how calm she managed to sound. Then she placed her folded hands on top of her papers and glanced around the room. Seats were filling quickly. The hub-hub of voices died down when Vetinari raised his hand.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “Thank you for taking the time from your various, ahem, responsibilities to attend this meeting. As you will be aware, our environmental health department has produced sterling work over the last few months, which has already led to an improved quality of life in the city. I am sure you will agree with me that it is in the interest of us all that this work be continued and any effort be made to rid Ankh-Morpork of pollution as much as huma... - as possible. You have already been fully informed on previous occasions about the state of the river Ankh, but this is not our only concern. Miss Winter will now present you with the findings of her completed air pollution investigation.”

 

The meeting followed the established pattern that Angelina had become accustomed on previous occasions. She presented her findings as neutrally as she could. Afterwards, questions and comments arose from the assembly and as usual, Vetinari picked them up and rephrased them in such a way that she knew what he wanted her to say. She was vaguely aware that political things were happening in the room, but did not concern herself with them, as she knew them to be in the safe hands of the Patrician. The discussion then moved away from fact and number and Vetinari took charge of it completely. Knowing that her part was over, Angelina allowed her mind to drift away for a moment. How delightful it was to sit next to His Lordship and assist him in this intricate operation. How wonderful it was to feel the smooth metal of the watch on her skin. How exciting it was to...

 

The next thing she became aware of was a voice exclaiming:

“That still leaves the question of compensation!”

Vetinari leaned back in his seat and replied calmly: “I am afraid we will not be able to discuss that today. What time is it, Miss Winter?”

Oh dear, the smooth metal of the watch on her skin under the dress...

“Errr...I don’t know, my lord, “ she whispered, struggling not to show her embarrassment.

Immediately, Mr Drumknott flicked open his own watch.

“It is twelve fifty-five,” the imp announced.

“Ah, time for lunch then,” decreed the Patrician. “I thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen.”

While people were shuffling out of the room, Mr Shanks of the Guild of Carpenters approached Angelina and involved her in a discussion about wood stains. When she looked round to catch Vetinari’s eye, she saw that he had already left. She gathered her papers and went back down to her office. Things had gone rather well, she thought. She had appeared as calm and level-headed as Vetinari could have wished for. Tomorrow or even this afternoon, she was confident, he would come to review the meeting with her and then she would be able to smile her approval at him to her heart’s content.


	11. Chapter 11

Vetinari came neither that afternoon nor the next day to discuss the meeting. A tray of tea and figgins was brought to her office by a kitchen maid, but without a note, and His Lordship remained conspicuously absent. On Friday he informed her briefly that the filter project was going ahead and that she was to meet with senior figures in the Guild of Alchemists to discuss it. There was little opportunity for Angelina to smile. Days added up to weeks and her expectations were disappointed. The Patrician showed no other signs of distinguishing her. They met on their usual friendly terms, but if anything, their casual conversations became fewer, his manner more reserved. Her initial flutter of excitement had given way to a state of anxious vigilance, which in turn, as no further hints emerged, left her feeling strained and low.

 

In Grune Angelina took two weeks’ leave and visited her brother Conrad in the countryside. On the evening of her return, she sat with Henry in one of the public rooms at the Assassins’ Guild, giving him a vivid account of the idiosyncrasies of Conrad’s household.

 

“And can you believe that Karia is actually scared of the ostriches? The poor woman is like a prisoner in her own home, because she thinks the birds will attack her if she sets a foot outside the door.”

“I can believe that easily enough. I’ve always wondered why Conrad would want to marry such a wet hen,“ remarked Henry.

“Oh, come on, Henry, she is a lovely woman. It is very inconsiderate of Conrad to subject her to such terror.”

“She’ll get used to it. I hope you set her a good example.”

“What, like going out into the pens and being all at one and in harmony with the ostriches? No thank you. I didn’t care about them one way or the other. I just tried to encourage her to be a bit more assertive in general. Anyway, apart from that, they seem to be quite happy together. So it is surely not for the likes of you and I to interfere.”

“True enough,” admitted Henry.

 

Angelina inspected her hands thoughtfully for a while, then she asked:

“And how have things been going here?”

“I took your friend Tvoolia out for dinner the other day.”

“Oh, that was kind of you. She must have been a bit lonely, with Goldy being away at the moment, too. You are very considerate, Henry. Anything else?”

He grinned.

“Nothing of importance. I lost my favourite hat in a little scrap in Hide Park, and The Battle of Koom Valley was almost re-enacted in the city.”

“Oh dear. That sounds like a lot of trouble.”

“Tell me about it. It looked like it was going to be a real scuffle, dwarves and trolls assembled in even more belligerent gear than usual and the trolls did that strange thing with their clubs. But before the midden actually hit the windmill, they all just passed out. Totally pissed –“

“Watch your language, Henry!”

“Well, highly intoxicated. Gods know how that happened, but they say that Commander Vimes looked mightily smug. Ah, here’s my friend!”

Henry raised a hand to greet the man who had just entered the room. The stranger was about forty, with sparkling eyes, a sophisticated moustache and a cloud of curly black hair. He had “Brindisian” written all over him. It was not a fashion Angelina approved of.

“Soulangi! Come and meet my sister. Angelina, this is my good friend Emilio Soulangi, finally returned from his travels.”

“Signorina Winter!” exclaimed Soulangi and raised her hand to his lips. “We meet at last. I have heard so much about you that I feel I know you already. You are even more beautiful than I expected.”

 

Angelina looked at Henry in bewilderment. She vaguely remembered her brother mentioning Soulangi along with a bunch of other friends, but never as a particular favourite. Even more beautiful than he expected? Perhaps the man needed spectacles. And surely she was not a frequent topic of conversation among Henry and his friends?

“How do you do, Mr Soulangi,“ she said and gently withdrew her hand.

Henry slapped Soulangi’s shoulder.

“I was just telling Lina about the little almost-fracas between trolls and dwarves that we saw here the other week. We were all rather on edge, weren’t we?”

 

Mr Soulangi twisted his moustache and winked at her.

“Winter, my friend, let us not tire the bella donna with tales of such uncultured people. Your bewitching sister must have more charming things to talk about. What is your favourite pursuit, Signorina Winter? Painting? Swamp dragons? The opera? How do you while away the hours? I am sure you are a highly accomplished woman.”

“She’s an accomplished harpy, aren’t you, Lina?”

“I am an alchemist,” replied Angelina. “I work for a living.”

Soulangi looked startled for an instant, then he smoothly continued:

“Ah, the modern woman, she likes to have the best of both worlds. Can I get you a drink? Sherry? Port?”

Angelina asked for a glass of wine and spent the next half hour listening to Soulangi’s flattery, before she found an excuse to leave.

 

When she next met with Henry, he suggested that Soulangi, who played the violin, should join their musical sessions. Angelina was pleased enough about this, given that it significantly extended the range of music suitable for them, but she suspected that Henry had other motives and was irritated by the idea that he was trying to fix her a date. She had been a single woman for long enough to conduct her life credibly without male interference, thank you very much. Henry just laughed.

 

Mr Soulangi was certainly as dashing as any assassin and quite adept on the violin; beyond that Angelina couldn’t help finding him vain and insipid. He, however, took an instant liking to her and began to court her in such an ingratiating manner, that she soon considered him tedious beyond expression. His exaggerated and ridiculous compliments would have been a source of amusement to her, had she not felt harassed and pressurised by them. She wondered if he was a fortune hunter, who had misinterpreted her family’s financial status. Through some engineering by Henry she found herself one evening engaged to go out for dinner with him, where he irritated her with frequent exclamations of “Ah, bellissima signorina!” until she could barely suppress the impulse to propel her pasta dish into his face. 

 

Henry defended his friend, explaining that such was the way of Brindisians, but Angelina replied that while she was by no means implying that they should abandon their cultural heritage, there was no law that required her to like Brindisians. Still, Henry persuaded her to attend the Guild of Assassins’ Summer Ball with Mr Soulangi. She obliged him because she knew how much he wished to show off his colleagues in front of his sister and vice versa. For her brother’s sake she made an effort with her appearance and when she arrived at the magnificently lit ball room and saw the festive crowd, she began to feel cheerful, and glad of her elegant dress. She endured Soulangi’s attentions with good grace, danced with him and anybody else Henry introduced to her and found to her surprise that she was enjoying the evening. Inevitably she noticed people’s approving looks as she twirled round the room on Soulangi’s arm and she could almost hear their thoughts. What a handsome couple! A good match! But for once she didn’t mind. Here was music, here was beauty, and she wanted nothing else but to indulge in it for a little while.

 

 

 **\----**

“Mr Drumknott?”

“My lord?”

“A special investigation on Mr Emilio Soulangi of the Assassin’s Guild, please!”

 

 

\----

 

 

The last days of summer wore out and a cooler air blew into the weary streets of the city. Angelina plodded on, trying to muster enthusiasm for her duties. She felt dejected. Though it was some time ago that she had ceased to expect an immediate declaration by the Patrician, she had nevertheless clung to the idea that they were at least friends. But recently Vetinari had begun to look at her scornfully, if at all. He sent her memos where he would have previously come to talk to her. He had let her know that he no longer required weekly reports, only summaries of completed investigations. She hadn’t spoken to him in two weeks. More than ever she strained her ears to hear his footsteps in the passageway so she could catch a glimpse of him through the window whenever he went out to his carriage. Well, soon her report on the initial tests of the filters would be completed and then she would have a reason to talk to him. Maybe she would be able to find out why he had changed his manner towards her. What an undignified manoeuvre, she thought, but when the day came, she failed in her resolution to simply hand in the report to Mr Drumknott.

 

Vetinari glanced up only briefly when she approached his desk.

“Ah, Miss Winter.”

“I bring you the report on the implementation of the first set of filters, my lord,” she said quietly and placed the folder in front of him.

“Splendid. I am looking forward to reading it.”

He opened the folder and flicked through the pages, then laid it aside on a pile of paperwork. With a discreet cough he picked up his pen, then looked up at her and raised his eyebrow.

“Was there anything else, Miss Winter?”

“No, my Lord.”

“Well, do not let me detain you.”

Mortified, Angelina left the Oblong Office.

 


	12. Chapter 12

With a pile of books in her bag, Angelina softly entered the library and made her way to the Librarian’s desk. The orang-utan wasn’t there. She looked around and screwed up her eyes trying to make out his shape in the aisles that curved at impossible angles. She wondered why the place should worry her so. After all, a long time ago she had boldly gone where no ten-year-old had gone before. Contrary to her parents’ belief, she had not had much imagination then. She had it now. Better to wait.

 

She took the books out of her bag and laid them on the desk, then she turned around and browsed among the shelves of tame books near the entrance. After a while, a gust of air followed by a thud told her that the Librarian had landed somewhere behind her.

 

“Good evening. I’ve brought back your books.”

“Ook!”

The Librarian seized the pile from the desk and tucked it under one arm. He glanced at Angelina, then he reached out and grasped her chin. She stood very still while he inspected her face. When he released her, he ran his fingertips down the middle of his face, then pointed at her.

“Ook?”

“I know,” she said. “I do not look very happy. Things aren’t going too well for me at the moment. But I am always glad to come here and find some interesting books.”

The Librarian turned his attention to the pile under his arm. Pulling them out one after another with his free hand, he looked at them gravely and shook his head. He set them down gently on his desk and set off into one of the aisles that led away into the distance. After a few steps, he looked back and raised a leathery hand, palm outwards and fingers spread.

“Ook!” he said urgently.

Angelina nodded. “I will wait here.”

 

She picked up her returned books again and settled down on a small wooden bench next to the door. Flicking through the pages, she wondered why the Librarian had rejected them. There could be nothing wrong with poetry, could there? Well, elegiac poetry, admittedly. With a particularly melancholy tendency. Coming to think of it, Brookman had committed suicide and Spring had died in a mental asylum. The Librarian was right, these books weren’t going to make her feel any better. She would do better to include a larger allowance of prose in her reading.

 

“Evening, Miss Winter,” said Adrian Turnipseed absentmindedly as he hurried past, a wad of paper clutched like a shield in front of his chest.

 

Angelina began to feel edgy. If there were any other people in the library, they were not to be seen. Books rustled and muttered on the distant shelves. She could hear chains clanking. What if one of the magic books broke loose while she was all alone here? Would the Librarian know and come to her rescue? It was getting dark, too. But she had said she would wait. She opened one of the poetry books again.

 

 _And is there such a place where I could wander_

 _With forlorn eyes that search the barren shore_

 _Till nightfall, when I see the lamplights yonder,_

 _That speak of you but hide you evermore_

 _The seagull cries, her voice is..._

“Ook!”

The Librarian gently drew the book out of her hand and replaced it with two volumes.

Angelina looked at the smooth covers, the iconographs.

“Are they from...?” She made a vague gesture.

“Ook.”

“Well, I thank you. I shall bring them back as soon as I can.”

“Ook.”

The Librarian patted her shoulder.

 

Angelina delved into the books that same evening with something approaching enthusiasm. The further she progressed, though, the more she began to shake her head in disbelief. The books were the fictional diaries of a single woman of about her own age. This woman was slovenly, notoriously late, smoked and drank too much and frequently engaged in activities that made Angelina blush. She was also utterly incompetent at her job and disrespectful towards her admittedly very strange mother. Her entire life seemed to consist of resolutions that she broke almost as soon as she made them. For four nights Angelina scanned in vain chapter after chapter for a clue as to why the Librarian had chosen these books for her. Surely she had nothing in common with that awful girl? Could the Librarian have any reason for wanting to insult her? When she found towards the end of the second volume that the dreadful woman had incredibly gained the complete devotion of a very decent and charming man, Angelina dropped the book in disgust.

 

She went up to the university the next day and this time she was glad that the Librarian was nowhere to be seen. She placed the books on the desk and slunk away.

 

 

\----

 

 

 **Dear Cassandra,**

 **Thank you so much for your kind letter. It is good to know that you are always there for me – as I would be for you, though I am grateful that you have been spared such misery and hope that you will never have to test my skills as a counsellor. I really think that in the grand scheme of things Joaquin’s dirty socks on the floor are something one could put up with.**

 **I am so sad. His Lordship isn’t even talking to me anymore. Not beyond the bare necessities anyway. We used to have such sparkling conversations, and now there is nothing left of that.**

 **I cannot find out what has gone wrong. Clearly I read too much into his behaviour in the spring time, in particular the whole story about the watch. But I still don’t understand why he suddenly changed. Maybe he became aware that he had raised expectations in me and found it necessary to put me in my place. Though I don’t think I have been particularly bold, on the contrary, I tried to behave quite naturally.**

 **Oh, I know it is futile to ponder on it. My single mistake was that I ever allowed myself to think of him in a manner so completely inappropriate. I shall have to get the better of this and do the job that I am paid to do without my silly daydreams. Ha, I wish there was a congregation of pathetic women like me and I could stand up in front of them and say: “My name is Angelina Winter and I am obsessed with Lord Vetinari.” Maybe if somebody laughed at me enough I would be shamed into seeing sense, since I should really be past the age of being overcome by sensibilities.**

 **To make matters worse, Henry is still trying to push his friend Soulangi at me. It astonishes me how he can be so insensitive. Last week he made me go out to dinner with Soulangi again and gave some feeble excuse for his own absence. Mr S. serenaded me all evening about how wonderful I am. If I have to endure this man once more in a tete-a-tete, I swear I shall slap him.**

 **Enough of my moaning. I had a lovely postcard from Felix yesterday, at least he is happy and well. He says he is on the brink of making an amazing discovery, but isn’t he always?**

 **Thank you again, dearest Cassandra, for your unfaltering patience and support. I think having a kindly sister must be the greatest blessing on the Disc.**

 **Love**

 **Lina**

\----

 

 

It was interval at the Ankh-Morpork Opera House, and a throng of elegantly dressed music connoisseurs and those who wanted to be taken for such was milling around the foyer. Henry and Angelina Winter stood in a corner in quiet conversation.

 

“And what do you say to Dame Gina Dulci? Isn’t she magnificent?” asked Henry.

“Indeed, an astonishing voice. It combines the lyrical and the dramatic so effortlessly. Well, the best parts are always written for the sopranos, “ reflected Angelina, the contralto. “She is an impressive looking woman, too. So tall! And I have never seen such hair before.”

“Have you never met her up at the palace?”

Angelina looked surprised. Henry grinned.

“They say that Vetinari had an affair with her, you know. Well, I suppose you don’t get out of your workshop much. And maybe it was before your time, anyway. What’s the matter with you, you have put your frown on!”

“Oh, nothing. It just seems out of character for His Lordship, that’s all.”

Henry laughed and refilled their champagne glasses from the bottle on the banister.

“Honestly, Lina, you with your rose-tinted view of Vetinari! What do you think the man is, an ascetic? I admit it could be no more than rumour, but as they say: no smoke without a fire. I bet old Vetinari has an ample collection of illustrious ladies. There is that noblewoman in Uberwald...”

“Yes?”

“Allegedly he plays Thud! with her by clacks, but who knows if that is all? A very old acquaintance she is supposed to be.”

“Thud! of all things,” murmured Angelina, who maintained her deep aversion against the game.

“And of course he has always been on excellent terms with Mrs Palm.”

“Who is that?”

“Lina, are you kidding me? She is one of the most powerful women in the city. Leader of the Guild of Seamstresses. Well, I see you are not very well informed when it comes to local gossip. You should go out more. With an assassin, for preference.”

He winked at her, expecting a good-humoured reprimand, but she just emptied her glass and then looked at her shoes.

 

The gong called them back to their seats and they shuffled down the aisle with the rest of the crowd. The curtain rose. Throughout the entire second half Angelina strained her ears, but try as she might, she could find no flaw in Dame Gina Dulci’s performance.

 

 

Later when they sat idly sipping wine after a sumptuous meal in a fashionable restaurant, Angelina suddenly brought her hand down flat on the table.

“Now, Henry, I need to ask your advice.”

He leaned back, wineglass in hand, smiling indulgently.

“That sounds terribly serious, Lina.”

“It is. You listen carefully please, and no grinning.”

“No grinning, promise.”

“Well, Henry, I am very unhappy, because I have fallen in love and – no grinning, we said! And don’t even think for a second that I refer to your silly friend Soulangi.  It is somebody with no interest in me whatsoever, but the problem is that I cannot altogether avoid seeing him, and that makes me miserable.”

“Where do you see him?”

“At work.”

“I thought you worked all by yourself?” he asked.

“Yes, alas. But there are other people around, obviously. It’s a big palace.” She made an evasive gesture.

“And you know for sure you stand no chance?”

“Well, I thought for a while...but I had misjudged the situation.”

“A married man?”

Angelina made a non-committal sound, which he took for an affirmative.

“You see,“ she continued, “I told myself that I could get over it by just pretending it didn’t matter, but I am beginning to find that so very strenuous. It’s a struggle that takes up too much of my mind. I have even been making mistakes, you know, in my calculations, or labelling things incorrectly, that kind of thing.”

“Seems to me like you need to get yourself a different job.”

She sighed. Her brother looked at her quizzically.

“You are right there, Henry, but somehow... Well, I think that is not going to be enough. In fact I have been thinking of leaving the city altogether.”

“You are that desperate? Well, it would be a loss for me, not to mention poor Soulangi, but if you think that is what it takes...?”

“I think so, yes.”

Henry twisted the stem of his glass slowly.

“I think you don’t want any advice,” he said. “You have already made up your mind. All I can say is I shall miss you.”

“Dear Henry!”

“Dear Lina.”

Their hands reached out simultaneously and clasped each other’s across the table. On their way home, neither of them spoke, and Angelina entered her lodgings with a gloomy feeling of inevitability. By the time she put on her night gown, her decision was final. She could be ready in two or three days. What on the Disc would she tell him? She realized that she couldn’t say anything to his face. Their acquaintance would end the way it had started.

 

 

\-----

 

 

“Mr Drumknott, one moment please!”

The clerk turned round and descended the stairs he had just begun to climb.

“Good afternoon, Miss Winter. How can I help you? Are you quite well, you look...pale.”

“I am just a bit tired. Would you give this to His Lordship, please?” Angelina handed him a letter.

“His Lordship is taking his walk at this time.”

“I know. It’s not so urgent. If you would just put it on his desk to save me going upstairs, since I’m rather busy.”

“Certainly, Miss Winter.”

“Thank you, Mr Drumknott.”

 

Angelina closed the door to her office and sank onto her chair. There, it was done, no turning back now. She looked around to check if everything was in order. Her final report lay, neatly written, on her desk, together with a pile of folders containing what she considered a good head start for her successor and a note to Mr Drumknott expressing her thanks for all his support. Yesterday she had cleaned the alchemical equipment and packed it away in boxes. Only a few personal items remained scattered around the room: The iconographs of her family pinned to the wall, her scrap books of pressed plants, her mug and spoon, some books. Hesitatingly, she began to pack them into a leather bag. She glanced at the watch. Forty-five minutes till the coach left. She stood for a while by the window, contemplating the yellow leaves that had been blown into the yard the night before by an early autumn storm.

 

A knock on the door made her start and before she could compose herself, Vetinari walked in. Without a greeting, he looked around the room, took in her preparations and nodded to himself. Then he sat down resting both his hands on the tip of his cane and stared at her intensely.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” whispered Angelina. “I expected you to be out.”

“I was delayed. Mr Drumknott gave me your letter as I was about to leave.”

He paused.

“Your letter of resignation, Miss Winter.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“This came as rather a surprise.”

Angelina looked at the floor.

 “Yes, my lord.”

“ ‘With immediate effect’ were your words. You did not deem it necessary to give any advance notice?”

“No, my lord.”

“I would have expected you to be more considerate than that. Would you care to give me a reason for this unusual step?”

“I do not think I have to give a reason.”

 

Vetinari rose from his seat and slowly began to pace the room.

“Miss Winter. I think I do not have to point out to you how important your work has been for the city during this last year. You have had some marked successes. The river is beginning to look liquid. The filters appear to be working well. I thought you took your responsibilities seriously. It strikes me as odd that you suddenly wish to drop everything and leave a position that I am sure you have no reason to complain about.”

Angelina was silent.

“Answer me. Do you, Miss Winter, have any cause to be dissatisfied with the terms of your employment?”

“No, my lord.”

“Do you think I fail to support your work appropriately?”

“No, my lord.”

“Then why do you want to leave?”

To his surprise, he noticed that she was trembling. She sat down and steadied herself against the armrests of the chair.

“My lord, I deliberately did not give reasons in my letter and I was expecting to be gone before you received it. I do not wish to discuss my reasons with you. They are … personal reasons.”

 

The Patrician stopped and turned around sharply. Outlined against the light from the window, Angelina was crouched in her chair with a startling lack of her usual admirable posture. Vetinari walked towards her, towering over the little figure with barely concealed annoyance.

“That will not do as an answer, Miss Winter. What personal reasons could you have that you would need to keep secret?”

“I’d rather not say.”

They stared at each other in silence until Angelina averted her eyes.

“Miss Winter, as your employer and the Patrician of this city, I demand to have a satisfactory explanation of your sudden resignation.”

“I do not...”

“I am sorry I have to remind you of this, but you _are_ my subject.”

“You command me?”

“Yes. This is something a tyrant can do, as I am sure you know.”

 

She sat without a word, looking out of the window.

“I am waiting, Miss Winter.”

“Very well then,” she said in a quiet voice. She stood up, drew back her shoulders, raised her head and met his stare.

“You have commanded me and I have to answer. Please note that I had no intention for you ever to know this.”

“Noted. Continue.”

She drew breath.

“My Lord Vetinari. I find myself … overwhelmed by an affection for you that makes my position here quite unbearable. I think of you all the time, night and day. You will easily comprehend that under these circumstances I cannot continue to work for you.  I need to leave so that I can ... regain my equanimity. Please forgive me for any inconvenience I am causing you.”

 

Before Vetinari found words to express his astonishment, she had swept past him, out of the door, and was gone. He stood for a few minutes, staring straight ahead, then he left the room and returned to the Oblong Office, where he sank into his chair and rested his chin in his hands. When Mr Drumknott came in a little while later with the information that Mr Slant and a selection of guild leaders urgently wished to speak to the Patrician, Vetinari groaned inwardly. Then he straightened his face and received the visitors.

 

The next morning Mrs Scunners almost fainted with excitement about the caller at her door, but to her regret could tell the Patrician nothing else than that Miss Winter had paid up and was gone for good. Back in his carriage, Vetinari quietly said a bad word.


	13. Chapter 13

Angelina fled into the ever welcoming arms of her parents, who after expressing their initial bewilderment, asked no more questions but applied directly by letter to Henry for an explanation. For once he replied promptly with a summary of his recent conversation with his sister, which caused her parents to treat her with the resigned indulgence usually reserved for lovesick teenagers. She acted not very unlike it. As the leaves turned and then fell, Angelina wandered for whole days among the meadows and woods she had known since her childhood, climbing the highest hills, staring forever in the direction of Ankh-Morpork. Endlessly she mulled over their last conversation. If only she hadn’t told, if only she had invented some excuse in advance, yes, in advance; she should have planned for that scenario. It would have been so easy to make up some kind of family crisis, if only she had thought of doing so. Now she was exposed to his disdain and would never be able to face him again, if by chance... oh, what was she thinking, there was no chance on the Disc that they would ever meet again. Thus she fretted and agonized day after day, while the cries of the wild geese filled the sky. Not that she didn’t realize that she was only making herself worse, but she believed that no healing would be possible until she had felt this pain to its full extent.

 

During one of these walks she was surprised, miles from home, by heavy rainfall and returned drenched and shivering. Subsequently she was taken ill with a serious case of pneumonia, from which it was soon feared she would not recover. Her distraught parents consulted every physician in the area, tried every herb, prayed to every major deity. Then one afternoon a stranger arrived, introduced himself as Dr.Harvey Donovan and explained that he had heard whilst travelling through the village that a lady at the manor house was critically ill. Dr Donovan stayed with Angelina for an hour and left her a draught that he happened to have in his bag. Later nobody in the village remembered having spoken to him or even seeing him.

 

Within two days, Angelina was able to sit up, and a week later she left her room to join the family meal. At the table, she cast her eyes around and contemplated those who were her comfort and her joy. Her father, now past the seventy and unsteady on his feet, but still with the same nimble mind and kindly face that she had known all her life. Her mother, the plump and efficient matron of an affectionate home. These two first and foremost she had to be grateful for. Then gentle Robert, her eldest brother, who was now in charge of the estate, and his wife Roxana, with whom she loved to sing duets. Their three lively children, Henrietta, Richard and Toby. These were good people who deserved not to be burdened by her whims. Since she hadn’t died, she might as well live to give them pleasure. Angelina picked up her fork and began to eat.

 

\-----

 

Two watchmen stood leaning against one of the hippo statues on the Brass Bridge. It was a mild evening and there was no particular need to seek shelter, but, as Sergeant Colon had sensibly pointed out, it would be typical for those dangerous international criminals to use such a peaceful time to catch you off guard and steal one of the city’s most notorious landmarks. So they guarded the Brass Bridge, comfortable in the knowledge that their sense of duty allowed the citizens of Ankh-Morpork to sleep safer in their beds. Or something like that.

 

“So what’s the matter with you today, Nobby?” the sergeant opened the conversation. “You look gutted.”

 

Corporal Nobby Nobbs scratched his ear, dislocating a damp dog-end that had been nestling there. He picked it up from the cobbles and carefully replaced it in its customary position.

 

“ ’m not happy, Sarge,” he grunted.

“I can see that, Nobby. I hope you know that as your superior officer, I am always prepared to lend a helping ear.”

Nobby cast a sceptical glance at Colon’s chubby ear, but decided to let it pass.

“ ‘tis Miss Pushpram,” he continued. “I thought I was beginning to get on really quite well with her. I mean, last week she threw a nearly fresh haddock at me. I had a good supper of that one.”

“Well, good for you, Nobby. I always thought that Tawneee girl was not the right kind for you. Miss Pushpram is a woman who knows how to fling a sea bass. Can’t tell me that isn’t better than twirling upside down around a pole.”

 

Nobby sighed.

“Right you are, Sarge. But look at what she threw at me today.”

Surreptitiously, he pulled a small parcel from the abominable crevices of his clothing and handed it to Colon. The sergeant unwrapped the layers of waxed paper, caught a whiff and turned his head away.

He passed the parcel back to Nobby.

“Aha. I can see that you are really gutted, Nobby. Get it? Gutted, as in...”

“Yes, Sarge,” said Nobby wearily.

“It was a pune, or play on words, referring to...”

“I know, Sarge.”

Nobby sighed and tossed the parcel onto the Ankh.

 

It went “Splosh”.

 

The two watchmen spun around and looked down at the river in horror. The parcel had disappeared without a trace.

 

“Sarge?” said Nobby tentatively.

“Yes, Nobby?”

“Is it just me or does the river look ... liquid?”

Colon swore.

“Something terrible has happened, Nobby. That river was our cultural heritage, it was!”

“Weeeell, not exactly cultural, Sarge.”

“You know what I mean. What are we getting to, if you can just throw things into the river and they _sink_? _”_

Nobby shrugged.

“I know who dunnit,” he said.

“What?”

“I know who made the river liquid, Sarge. It’s that woman, the one who always goes round with them sampler jars. The Envious Mental Health Officer. Said in the paper that she was clearing up the pollution.”

“Oh, _that_ woman. She’s gone. Saw her getting on the coach to Pseudopolis a few weeks ago with her big trunk and all. Didn’t look to me like she meant to come back.”

Nobby spat into the river. He would no longer be able to nip over to the other side and see his spittle come out from under the bridge. A harmless pleasure had been taken from him.

“Good riddance,” he said.

\----

 

 **~~Dear Miss Winter,~~ **

**~~further to our conversation on 29 th of Spune, I would like to advise you that the affection you expressed on that occasion is fully returned by me and that I would consider it a great favour if you would...~~ **

 

 **~~Dear Miss Winter,~~ **

**~~I am happy to inform you that having completed the necessary arrangements I am now in a position to offer you an honourable establishment and , should you choose to accept...~~ **

 

 **~~Dearest Angelina,~~ **

**~~please come back to Ankh-Morpork and marry me...~~ **

 

 **~~My dear Miss Winter,~~ **

**~~please forgive me for forcing a confession from you that you were clearly unwilling to make. In my defence I can only say that reports I had about Mr Emilio Soulangi made me acutely concerned for your welfare, and I feared that you might have been induced to...~~ **

\----

After Hogswatch, Angelina took up a position as assistant librarian at the public library in Pseudopolis. She told herself that she could rebuild her career later. Her spirits improved as her health returned, and she accompanied her brother and his wife to some of the respectable events of Pseudopolis’ fashionable society, where she enjoyed meeting old friends and acquaintances. In the course of these assemblies, she attracted two admirers, one of them a middle aged bachelor merchant who had only recently established himself in the area, the other a former college associate, now widowed, with whom she had once shared a brief romance and who sought to console himself with this charming friend from happier days. Angelina discouraged them both quietly and politely. In the case of chubby, red-faced Mr Harris it was easy enough to steer his attentions towards a more suitable candidate for the position of housekeeper. Chas Fawler though, for whom she still had a lingering affection, was harder to shake off. She wished she had greeted him less cordially at their first meeting. He pursued her with such insistence and such solemn, pleading looks that she eventually withdrew from these gatherings altogether and spent her time entirely in the company of her family.

 

 

Through his usual channels, Vetinari knew of everything that befell Angelina, while she in turn knew nothing of him. Each working day she felt tempted to look into the Ankh-Morpork Times, which was available in the library, but she decided that this would defeat the purpose and she remained steadfast in her determination to forget him. She felt that she was beginning to heal. Admittedly, she should have got rid of the watch, but, well, it _was_ useful. One day she would exchange it for another one, a neutral one, but not right now...

 

 

\----

 

 **Dear Lina,**

 **good to hear that you are on the mend. I know that I have been a total dog for not writing to you at all until now, but  you know what I am like with letters and I am sure you will, as always, forgive me.**

 **The city has been fairly quiet since you left, apart of course from the fuss caused by the arrival of four thousand golems, which you are bound to have read about in the papers. Mind you, often the quiet is deceptive. Old Downey says that Vetinari is having huge difficulties to stay on top of things. Well, Downey would say that, wouldn’t he. To my mind the city is much as it ever was. You will be glad to know though, that the air and river seem quite a bit cleaner these days, so all your efforts have not been in vain.**

 **How are things going at the ball room front, is Chas Fawler still after you? Good old Chas, he’d deserve you. Don’t make him wait too long. Soulangi, by the way, has been a complete worm and has engaged himself to a wealthy widow in her forties not two months after you had gone. I must admit, he wasn’t good enough for you after all. I am still trying to guess the identity of the mystery man that drove you out of the city in despair, but he is not likely to be anybody I know, is he? Are you ever going to tell me, Lina, you secretive little minx?**

 **Now, Lina, I have a confession to make that may or may not surprise you. I still make visits to Mrs Scunners’ boarding house, even though your room has long ago been rented out to some grumpy, pickle-faced girl from Lancre. I have been drawn back, time and time again, by the sparkling charms of your friend Tvoolia, who has now graciously accepted my proposal. Surprise! Do not wonder why she never mentioned me, I made her and Goldy promise not to write a word about it to you, so I could be the first to tell. A man needs to have some motivation to write a letter, I think.**

 **Mama and Papa will receive a letter from me very soon and will, no doubt, approach you for information about Tvoolia. You in turn will, no doubt, sing her praises, so that they will, no doubt, approve of my choice. We want to get married in Sektober and, thwarted love or not, I want  you to come to Ankh-Morpork, along with everybody else. I will set a head-hunter on Felix if must be. It is going to be the best party we have all had for a while! If you think me in a way to be happier than I deserve, I am quite of your opinion.**

 **Well then, Lina, I know you will be delighted about my news, and I shall sign off now so you can enjoy your elation at your leisure.**

 **Three big kisses**

 **Henry**


	14. Chapter 14

On an unusually hot and humid afternoon in April, Vetinari asked Commander Vimes into the Oblong Office. The scheme the Patrician proposed made Vimes bolt instantly.

“A whole ten days, sir? That is impossible!”

“No, Vimes, that is a realistic timescale based on the stage coach timetable. I expect to be a little swifter, but one cannot really depend on that. So you should be prepared to deputize for me for at least ten days.”

Vimes’ eyes glinted angrily.

“You cannot ask me to do that, sir! Especially not at two days’ notice.”

Vetinari steepled his fingers in his characteristic manner.

“Vimes, this is a secondment. You are the Duke of Ankh and I believe if I sent Mr Drumknott into the archives, he would find me the legal documents stating that it is your duty to act for me in my absence. There is no question about the feasibility of this appointment, but I shall interpret your comments as an expression of personal discomfort at the prospect.”

Vimes continued to scowl.

“This is the wrong task for me, sir. Damn it, you’re the only man who can manage this bloody city.”

“I have been ... unavailable before, Vimes, and more than once, and yet Ankh-Morpork was still standing whenever I eventually returned to my office.”

Vimes made no reply. On those occasions, crucially, Vimes had not been in charge.

 

“I have drawn up an itinerary of my expected overnight stops,“ Vetinari continued. “You will send me daily reports to these locations by clacks. I will send you back detailed instructions, if that is any comfort to you.”

Vimes was sweating. It was obvious that he wanted a cigar, badly.

“Why me? I have a watch to run, you know.”

“Who do you suggest I should appoint instead?”

Silence fell. It lay on the ground like some primeval beast. Eventually Vimes replied:

“Sir, how necessary is this endeavour?”

 

Vetinari sighed and walked up to the window. He contemplated the city spread out in front of him. The traffic was winding steadily through the streets, the clacks towers were signalling across the roof tops. Mail was delivered, people bustled hither and thither, horses, carts and carriages moved about seemingly at random but in truth all in a complex pattern of purpose. And beneath this bustle he perceived the deeper currents of the city life, the interwoven tunes of a million people striving, planning, dreaming, struggling. A whole, as Angelina would have put it, that was bigger than the sum of its parts. His calling was to keep it all together, to assess the ever moving forces and add strength to them _here_ and _here_ , to stop the whole concert from faltering.  It was a precarious balance at the best of times, and it had taken him months to achieve a state of relative stability that he hoped would outlast his absence. He fully understood that Vimes was nervous about conducting this eclectic orchestra. But the man would have to rise to the occasion.

 

“Commander,” he said, “do not assume that I undertake this scheme lightly or without due preparation. The city will not collapse in your hands. I take my duties seriously enough to be keenly aware of the dangers, but be assured that I have done everything in my power to counteract them in advance. However, I _will_ go, Commander.”

He turned round and looked at Vimes with a mellower expression than the commander had ever seen on him.

“I am nearly fifty, Vimes. In all these years that I have served the city, I have never asked anything for myself. But now for once I will be selfish. _You_ have your wife and child, Commander. I am sure you understand me. If you feel you cannot do this as part of your duties, will you do it for me as a friend?”

And after a brief struggle Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh, stared straight ahead and said in a hoarse voice:

“Yes, sir.”

 

\----

 

 

On the highest elevation within two hour’s walk of her family home, Angelina Winter stood and gazed into the bluish distance. Spring again. Beginning of new life and all that. What did it matter. She sighed and scolded herself for her own weakness. At the age of twenty-four, she had moped very little about the disappearance of an amiable young man who had, after all, been her fiancé. Now, with her hair going grey, she found herself pining like an adolescent for a man who was and always had been entirely out of her reach. She frowned. Things had been going so well. She had been helping to teach her niece and nephews, had spent many evenings singing with Roxana; she had even assembled materials for a book on industrial hazards, which she hoped to publish and use as a means of persuading the Academy that it was time to give women a place among the lecturers. With all these things she had been keeping herself so busy that the daydreams took up less and less time. She had begun to hope that soon there might be days when she wouldn’t think of him at all.

 

But now she was daunted by the prospect of having to return to the city, of being assaulted by memories at every corner, while trying to be happy for Henry and Tvoolia. Maybe she should have told Henry the whole truth. But much as she loved him, she felt she could not rely on his discretion. Ever since Henry’s letter, the dreams had begun to haunt her again. She would wake up in the morning listless and worn out from the images of the night, and she found herself unable during the day to stop replaying in her mind scenes that she knew well she had better not dwell on: Her hand on His Lordship’s cheek, His Lordship catching her arm to save her from the treacherous hoho, His Lordship folding her fingers around his watch, His Lordship laughing with her, arguing with her, _being_ with her.

 

She knew her moodiness worried her parents, distressed the children. She knew she was being ridiculous and she was making herself ill. What was to be done she knew not. Eventually she turned her back on the widdershins prospect and slowly descended back into the valley.

 

When Angelina came in from her walk through the garden door, her mother met her in the hall.

“There is a visitor for you in the parlour, Lina. A gentleman from Ankh-Morpork, I didn’t quite catch his name, but...”

Angelina did not wait for her mother to finish. With a glance out of the window, she had discerned the carriage parked in front of the house. She slipped into the parlour and dug her nails into her palms when she saw Vetinari standing at the other end of the room, casually looking up from the seashell on the mantelpiece which he had been inspecting.

 

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Winter.”

Since he said nothing else, she ventured: “I trust you are well?”

“Very well, thank you.”

There was no indication on his side as to the purpose of his coming, no smile, no frown, nothing. She decided to wait for him to explain his presence, but eventually she felt the silence become too awkward and so she continued:

“So what is your business in coming here?”

The Patrician took a few steps towards her and looked at her earnestly.

“Miss Winter, when you left Ankh-Morpork last autumn you declared a certain intention. Please tell me, have you been successful in executing it?”

She wrinkled her nose in her characteristic frown.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“I need to know,” he replied simply.

She glared at him. “You have no right to ask.”

Vetinari’s calm expression flickered for a second, then he replied levelly:

“Maybe I haven’t. Well, a confirmation of the state of your heart would have been useful, but I can proceed without. Let me tell you then that my business in coming here is to propose marriage to you. Do you accept?”

The frown, which had not left her face, deepened.

“Is this some sort of test?”

“Not at all. Will you be able to return to the city with me tomorrow?”

At this, Angelina turned away and breathed audibly. When she faced Vetinari again, her eyes were sparkling.

“I see,” she said icily. “Evidently circumstances have arisen that make it desirable for you to be married, and now you think you can save yourself the trouble of actually having to court somebody by coming to me. A step well worthy of your efficiency, I dare say. I am sorry I cannot oblige. If you would excuse me now, I have things to do. Good day, my lord.”

 

 

\----

 

 

After she had hurried out of the room, Angelina went straight into the library and stationed herself near a window overlooking the drive. A couple of tears ran down her face and were wiped off with an irritated gesture. She would not stir from here until she had seen his coach depart. Her mother or one of the servants could see him out. He could see himself out for all she cared. The nerve he had, she wouldn’t have thought it even of him. Well, she had rejected him. She shuddered, when she realized that for a few seconds a future had hung in the air which placed her at his side. What a chilly marriage that would have been! But it was over, and all she would have to do now was to beat herself up about it for the rest of her life.

 

A little while later she heard the library door open and close and, expecting her mother, she turned around, only to find Vetinari approaching. His pace was hesitant and he stopped halfway across the room, scrutinizing her face silently. He could just make out the traces of tears. Angelina looked insistently on the floor. They stood like this for a while. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strange, without its usual reassurance and force.

 

“Please don’t reject me,” he said. “I have no other reason for wanting to marry you than I would be assured of your company. I have as high a regard for you as you could ever wish for. If I haven’t made the speech of a lover, it is because I am unfamiliar with the language, not because I lack the feelings.”

 

She did not stir. Cautiously, he took a step towards her, overlooking or disregarding the signs of fury in her face.

 

“Angelina.”

 

She looked up and glared.

“Really, my lord, I am amazed.” She was halfway through her next sentence when her brain registered how gently he had spoken her name, but by then her anger had taken over and was determined to carry on.

“You couldn’t make the speech of a lover if you studied the language for a hundred years! If there is one thing I am quite certain of, it is that you will never love anybody, let alone a little alchemist with an indifferent family name. Didn’t you tell me yourself that you cared only for your dead dog? Why did you come?  I went away and I explicitly told you that I wanted to recover from my...infatuation with you... and I find it most unfair, _most unfair_ of you to come here after all this time and stir things up again for whatever obscure reason. I was working in your blooming palace every day for a whole year. If you didn’t care about me then, why should you care now?”

“Angelina, please listen. I am aware that some time has elapsed since you left, but I had important business...”

“Non-stop business for seven months?”

“There are always more things to be dealt with than one hopes.”

“You could have sent a letter.”

“I considered the option, but I decided that this was a matter that needed personal attention. Judging by the way this conversation is going, you would have cast my letter into the fire anyway.”

“Oh, what an excuse! I don’t want to hear any more. I’ve had enough of you and your ... judiciousness. I want to rebuild my life and I don’t need you to upset it again. Just leave me alone!”

“I will not take no for an answer. Not while you are wearing that watch,” he said calmly.

Automatically, her hand grasped the watch on its chain round her neck.

“Oh, just go away! You will have to take no for an answer. I have left your city, I am no longer your subject and you cannot force me to do anything!”

 

She was shouting now. Vetinari raised his hand in a gesture of exasperation. Then he sighed and said in a quiet, tired voice.

“I understand that you have grievances. But please consider that you may have misjudged me as much as I misjudged you. I, too, had convinced myself that I meant nothing to you. For various reasons I was under the impression that you were rejecting my advances. However, unlike you I couldn’t go away, and I didn’t have the heart to send you away. Even just keeping away from you after you had begun to go out with your brother’s friend took a lot of fortitude. And then you made your declaration and stormed out of the city without even waiting for an answer. Had you given me half an hour to ... adapt - but I believe you were halfway to Sto Helit by then.”

Vetinari was walking around in a narrow circle between two bookcases. Angelina stood absolutely still.

“Do you really think you are the only one who suffered?” he continued. ”Can you even begin to imagine my anxiety when I heard how ill you were? Or do you believe it gave me any comfort to hear that you were going out and allowing yourself to be courted? And there I was, bound up with things that made it impossible for me to leave Ankh-Morpork, fearing that I could lose you for good. Do you think that was an enviable position? One can’t help thinking it might have occurred to you that the ruler of a city cannot simply abandon his duties and go off in pursuit of the woman he loves, especially if she has the good sense to run away as far as possible. Things are rather more complex than you like to believe. Even if Ankh-Morpork hadn’t been on the verge of civil war, I knew my getting married would be something people would not accept easily. It needed careful arrangements, not the least for your safety.”

He ran his fingers across his forehead.

“Angelina, I swear I came as soon as I could. I was almost ready a few times and then things happened that kept me back. You know you would not have approved if I had just sent a message. There can be absolutely no doubt that I had to appear before you in person. Please try to look beyond your own concerns and allow yourself to do me justice.”

 

There was a pause. The afternoon had advanced and sunshine was gently gliding into the room, filling empty spaces with little pools of light. Angelina turned aside and leaned her head against a bookcase. With the window behind her, he could not see her face clearly. Her hand was still locked around the watch. Eventually she said, without looking up:

“I have made a right fool of myself, haven’t I?”

Vetinari’s shoulders relaxed as he exhaled. He shook his head slowly.

“The saying is, I believe, that we are all fools in love.  And you had some reasons to be angry, I suppose. I admit that my manner this afternoon was very unsuited to the purpose. In fact, I would appreciate it if you never told anybody about it, lest I should become famous for the clumsiest proposal in history.”

At this, she chuckled and then, without knowing how she had crossed the space between them, she was clinging to him, listening to his frantic heartbeat and inhaling the strange but comforting smell of his robe.

“I take that as an acceptance,” he murmured and wrapped his arms around her with a tenderness that surprised himself.

 

 

\----

 

That evening Angelina had the pleasure of observing Vetinari at the venerable old dining table that had seen the feeding of generations of Winters, making himself agreeable to her family.  He talked politics with her brother, philosophy with her parents, and music with her sister-in-law. Everybody was disposed to like him, everybody was charming, witty and bright. Angelina beamed with pride, both at the worthiness of her family and the brilliance of her fiancé. In the candle light, she looked radiant and beautiful. Vetinari, too, was shining. The children stared at him in wonder and admiration. Little Henrietta in particular hardly averted her eyes from him.

“Are you a prince?” she asked eventually when a gap in the conversation arose.

Vetinari smiled. “I’m afraid not.”

“But are you going to take Aunt Angelina away on your horse?”

“I am going to take her away, but she will have to content herself with riding in my carriage, which incidentally will be more comfortable for a six hundred mile journey”

Henrietta considered this.

“But you are only supposed to go in the carriage with her _after_ the wedding.”

“Your aunt and I do things slightly differently.”

“I suppose that’s all right for old people like you.”

“Time for bed, children,” intervened Roxana and rose to usher them out. Henrietta turned back and gave him a meaningful look, which amused the adults.

“She certainly loves her fairy tale books,” said Mrs Winter apologetically.

“There can be no harm in that. I am afraid though,” said Vetinari, “that I do indeed have to take Angelina away, and as early as tomorrow morning. I don’t want to stay away from the city any longer than absolutely necessary, and I am unwilling to go ahead without her.”

Her father and mother assured him of their agreement, and the conversation turned to more mundane considerations of various wedding arrangements. Angelina was not surprised to find that Vetinari had already set a date and had his most trusted clerks waiting, as it were, in the wings. He meant to send a clacks from the first tower they would pass on their journey with a message for Mr Drumknott to go ahead with the preparations. Apparently a protocol existed that prescribed most of the formalities of the event, and there was not much left for her to do other than to name her guests and choose her dress. She didn’t mind. It would be a delight to return to Ankh-Morpork. She was looking forward to seeing Henry’s face when she’d show him the glorious ring and invite him to guess who gave it to her. Chas Fawler indeed!


	15. Chapter 15

When they had all retired, Angelina packed her trunk, then prepared for bed and slipped under the sheets. She lay with eyes open and tried to grasp the change that had come over her life since she had risen in the morning. That Vetinari should have been in love with her all along seemed almost beyond belief. Of course, for a while he _had_ spent more time with her than their professional relationship had warranted, and she had begun to think that there might be something, right up until the day he gave her the watch and she almost fell over her own feet with excitement. But then his manner had become so aloof, so cold. Surely he hadn’t seriously believed she cared for Soulangi? What signals had she given him? Admittedly she had tried to conceal her regard, what else could she have done? It would have been better, perhaps, to be more encouraging, as Cassandra had hinted on occasions. But she had been too tentative. And, oh dear, that wretched meeting with the watch tucked into her dress. No wonder he had thought she didn’t care. Maybe just sitting in her room waiting for _him_ to come to _her_ had not been sufficient on that occasion. And he had said he had _suffered._ Been anxious. The way she had shouted at him, told him to go away. It was unbearable.

 

After lying like this for about an hour, she got up and slipped out into the corridor. Noiselessly she descended the stair from her second storey apartment to the first floor, where her mother had prepared the guest room. She stood outside the room for some time and shivered while her feet were getting cold on the flagstone floor. The door would be locked, of course. It was a heavy solid oak door. Knocking might waken him up, but raise others, too. Eventually her brain recognized what her eyes had seen all the time. There was a faint glow from under the door. Gingerly she tried the handle. The door opened and she tiptoed in.

She saw the candle on the writing table and some paperwork – trust him! – but no sign of Vetinari. The bed was untouched. Then she felt her hand seized. He had been standing behind the door!

“You gave me a fright! Why did you hide behind the door?”

“Force of habit,” he whispered and pulled her towards him. He leaned forwards and they stood with their hands locked, forehead to forehead, for some time until Angelina stopped trembling. Then she reached up and framed his face in her hands.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. May I kiss you better?”

“Hmm. Are you sure you don’t think it was all my fault?”

She shook her head.

“I didn’t pay enough attention and I didn’t think straight about how my behaviour would appear to you. And I ran away at least once too often.”

Slowly, he smiled.

“Well, well. Kiss me then, if you must. However, I believe you are only supposed to come to my bedchamber after the wedding.”

“I know,” she replied, “But as you said, my lord, you and I do things slightly differently.”

 

 

\----

 

“Angelina.”

She opened her eyes.

“How can you sleep at a time like this?”

 

 **\----**

 **My dearest Cassandra,**

 **I do not know how to begin to tell you my news. I would like to relate the whole story in an orderly fashion, but am, well, too excited for that, and before I confuse you with my muddled account, let me assure you that all is well with me now. Things have all of a sudden turned around completely, and I am writing this from a coaching inn on my way back to Ankh-Morpork, where I am to marry Lord Vetinari! Please excuse the atrocious handwriting, I am writing at a bedside table, since obviously His Lordship needs the desk for his really important work and, well, truth be told, my hands are still shaking every time I think of it. But I don’t want to delay this letter any longer. You really ought to have been the first person to know, but of course as it was, Mama, Papa, Robert and Roxana were all in the house and were told straight away.**

 **You see what a mess I am making of my report already. I shall muster some discipline and begin at the beginning. Two days ago Lord Vetinari arrived completely unexpectedly at Steventon, managing to coincide precisely with a point in time when I had been making myself more miserable than ever about my wretched affection for him. It seemed very unreal to see him there in my very home. He barely spoke to me and then suddenly asked me in the most freezing tone to marry him. I was totally perplexed, but then I thought there must be something twisted and political behind it, because it seemed clear from his manner that it was to be some kind of business deal. So I gave him an outright rejection and ran off to the library. You can imagine how upset and utterly furious I was.**

 **The next thing I knew he was standing right in the middle of the room, and spoke to me in a very different way, explaining his regard for me. I didn’t believe a word of it at first and I got quite angry with him and even shouted, but in the end there was no denying it: He has actually loved me for as long as I have loved him, more or less. He said it was a mystery to him how I had failed to notice it. Similar blindness on his side, though: He had assumed I didn’t care about him. He had thought I was going out with that buffoon Soulangi! (Hmmm, that shows a severe misunderstanding of my character, don’t you think, I’ll have to tease him about that).**

 **I asked him why he suddenly changed his behaviour after he had given me the watch and he said he had been angry with himself for acting so impulsively and felt he had completely given his game away without even getting a response from me. And there was me trying not to appear overenthusiastic. You had been quite right in saying it could be a disadvantage to be so very guarded. When I look back now, I understand how it has been: While he thought he was courting me, I thought he was checking up on me. While I thought I was being decorously restrained, he thought I was discouraging him. How ironic; if we had but understood each other’s manners better, we could have saved ourselves almost a year of misery! Never mind, we’re past that now.**

 **Anyway, an hour later everybody in the house knew, was delighted etc, etc, and we spent the most charming evening together. He was utterly irresistible, I mean not just to me, but to everybody. Henrietta asked him if he was a prince come to carry me away on his horse! I must say, that rather accurately sums up how I feel: From pathetic waif to fairytale princess in one afternoon. Cassandra, he has given me the most sensational ring in the conceivable universe, though I think you will be the only other person who will quite appreciate it. It is – are you ready for this? – a grey-speckled Salsalite, very beautifully set in filigree gold, and it perfectly matches my eyes; it is even that little bit darker than the usual Salsalite.  Having worn it for two days now I am beginning to think that the old superstition about its cosmetic prowess was not so ridiculous after all, for whenever I look into a mirror I see a radiant stranger. Of course, there might be other causes for this…**

 **Oh, do you remember Lady Meserole? She was the one with the famous garden parties that we went to a couple of times when we were little. Just fancy, she is His Lordship’s aunt! We went to see her before we left Pseudopolis. Apparently they hadn’t seen each other for years, but there was great cordiality between them, which pleased me very much. Lady Meserole is now in her seventies; yet you wouldn’t believe it if you saw her. High spirits make people appear younger, I suppose. She insisted that I should call her Bobbi, but that is not likely to happen any time soon. I am still struggling to call His Lordship “Havelock” to his face – it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I have addressed him so in my mind. I’ll really have to practise for the wedding.**

 **Dearest, the wedding is on the 17 th of Grune, and I believe Mr Drumknott is even now having gold-edged invitation cards printed. I hope we will be able to track down Felix in time. Needless to say I want you to be my maid of honour. Do you think I should ask Goldy and Tvoolia, too? Apparently it will all have to be very formal, but I am sure we Winters will be able to add a touch of cheerfulness to the occasion. **

**Write to me soon, my dear Cassandra, to tell me how surprised and delighted you are, and don’t forget to address your letter to the Patrician’s Palace, where I will now be installed in complete and utter bliss. (Yes, it’s sickening, I know, but when would I ever be allowed to use such language if not now?) I am sending you all my love that I can spare at this moment!**

 **Yours ever**

 **Lina**

 **\----**

It was a windy late afternoon when the Patrician’s carriage finally rattled over the cobbles of Ankh-Morpork again. Here and there, people pointed at it. Lord Vetinari peered out of the window and took in the familiar sights. Angelina was slumped against his shoulder, sleeping. He smiled and ran a finger down her cheek. For five days they had been confined to this little chamber hurtling down the highway, and he couldn’t have borne it in the company of anybody else, but they had both been quite contented, alternating between animated conversations and comfortable silences. Now, at last, they were back in the city and all was well, at least for a given value of “well”. There was a spectacular traffic pile-up in Phedre Road and an angry mob outside the Dysk. Oh, and an assortment of kitchenware that was for some unfathomable reason perched on the hippo statues on the Brass Bridge. But otherwise the city seemed unruffled. No doubt there would be work to be done soon. It would be a pleasure. Everything would be a pleasure again.

 

“Wake up, we are home,” he said to her when they pulled into the coach yard of the Palace. As soon as the carriage stopped, the door was flung open and a host of servants began to busy themselves around the horses and luggage. Curious faces were huddled in the doorway and by the windows, for rumour had spread that the Patrician was bringing home his bride. Vetinari stepped out and took a deep breath of air. Around him, people were bobbing and bowing. Then an expectant hush fell as he turned back towards the carriage and held out his hand. Angelina took it and gingerly set her foot onto the ground.

“Good heavens, it’s Miss Winter!” cried Mrs Reynolds, the cook, and a general cheer arose. People in the windows were nudging each other and grinning. Suddenly Mr Drumknott was beside them. He seized Vetinari’s hand and shook it eagerly.

“Well done, my lord,” he said.

 

 

 **\----**

 **Fairytale** ****

**Wedding**

 **Charms City**

 **Patrician Lord Vetinari marries in public display of splendour.**

 

 **At three o’clock yesterday afternoon Lord Vetinari officially ended almost five decades of bachelorhood. His Lordship (49) married Miss Angelina Winter (36) in a magnificent ceremony in the Unseen University Great Hall.**

 **State representatives from all over the Disc joined Ankh-Morpork’s dignitaries at an event truly worthy of the city’s status and heritage.**

 **The guests assembled from the early afternoon onwards in the University grounds, where they were welcomed by Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully (76), who acted as Master of Ceremonies.**

 **Among the invited were the Seriph of Klatch, the Patrician of Pseudopolis and the Low King of the Dwarves. King Verence II of Lancre (38), who attended the wedding with his charming wife Queen Magrat (32), told The Times: “We are delighted to be here today. Our own wedding was a much more modest affair, but we are happy to give Ankh-Morpork precedence.”**

 **At ten to three the 800 official guests and a much greater number of spectators saw the open carriage with the bridal couple arrive at the University gates.  The Patrician, dressed in a stately ensemble of black velvet with silver trimmings, alighted first and handed his bride out of the carriage. Miss Winter wore a long-sleeved dress of cream coloured silk, the skirt and neckline embroidered with a peacock feather motif.**

 **The couple were greeted by a fanfare of fifty trumpets and the palace guard in full dress uniform.  As many as two hundred blue and white banners lined the path from the University Gates to the Great Hall, where the bride’s brother, Felix Winter (38) performed Fondel’s Allegro Vivace in G on the University organ. The bridesmaids, Miss Tvoolia Hingh (27), Miss Goldy Jorgensson (93) and the bride’s sister Miss Cassandra Winter (34), wore pastel blue and carried bouquets of pale yellow roses.  Miss Hingh, a close friend of the bride, will soon be**

 **_Full colour photo coverage on page 3_ **

\----

Well, they are happy for now. Who knows what will befall them? It could be that...

 

...after three years of marriage Angelina leaves Vetinari when she discovers his continuing affair with Dame Gina Dulci. He barely blinks. Angelina moves back to Pseudopolis, where she becomes a member of the city council and eventually marries Chas Fawler. Or maybe...

 

...the Vetinaris adapt admirably to their married life and in due time Angelina is delivered of twin girls Roberta and Penelope. Vetinari is so smitten with his daughters that he abandons politics. The family retires to Quirm. Susan Sto Helit becomes Patrician of Ankh-Morpork. But then again maybe...

 

...Vetinari is assassinated shortly after the wedding. Ankh-Morpork falls into chaos. Angelina joins forces with Vimes in an attempt to hunt down the perpetrator. This involves her in an Odyssey that eventually leads to Brindisi, where she dies of Cholera. Or perhaps...

 

...the Vetinaris spend a Honeymoon weekend at Limonum. During a sailing trip their vessel is catastrophically swept out to sea, where they manage to survive thanks to an unexpected rain of tinned carrots and several rains of rain. Nearly dead they land weeks later on the be Trobi Islands. Only the devoted care of the be Trobi people sees them through. Their convalescence is a happy and peaceful time. However, travel arrangements for a return to Ankh-Morpork prove to be difficult and eight months go by before they arrive back in the City, where Lord Rust has become Patrician. With the support of Sir Samuel and Lady Sybil Vimes, Rosie Palm and Moist Von Lipwig, the Vetinaris embark on a cunning campaign to get Havelock back into power. Or possibly...

 

...the new Lady Vetinari gains great popularity in the city and provides an inexhaustible source of human interest stories for the Ankh-Morpork Times. This is a useful smokescreen for Vetinari, who finds as much comfort in Angelina’s company as he had expected. The marriage is highly successful, though childless, and Vetinari remains in office until the age of seventy-six, when he and his wife are killed in a freak explosion at the Opera House.

 

Which scenario would the Vetinaris prefer? Which one do _you_ prefer? Let the Trousers of Time split and there will be a place for all of them and more.

 

 **The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea to this story arose from a discussion about whether Vetinari could ever fall in love. I thought a lot about Vetinari's psychology, and what kind of woman might captivate him and under what circumstances, and this is what I came up with.
> 
> There are two sequels to this story, The Vetissey, in which Vetinari and Angelina get lost at sea, and The Return of the ???, in which they return to Ankh-Morpork. These stories are more light-hearted and funny than this one.


End file.
